Of Wine and Winter
by FortunesFavor
Summary: In wine, there is truth. In blood, there is justice. After being summoned by her cousin, Lady Desmera Redwyne sets sail for King's Landing. Unknowingly, she is thrust headfirst into a game of plots and political intrigues. She must find it within herself to survive long enough to find a way back home. A story of love, loss, honor, and betrayal. Eventual Jon S/OC
1. Prologue

**Hello! Some of you may have already read this, but I have made changes. I had been writing the story in advance before posting before realizing it was taking way too long to introduce Jon Snow. After deliberating, I decided to change the timeline. Overall, it doesn't impact the chapters I already posted too much, but it definitely improves things for later. If you haven't already stumbled across this story, then please ignore everything above! Thank you so much for reading!**

**I will only say this once, I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. Even my OC's name belongs to George R.R. Martin, I am simply giving her a much larger part in his magnificent world. This is my first fan fiction, and if you will please look at the rating, it is rated M. This means there will be adult themes. Honestly, if you've watched the show, nothing I write will be offensive.**

**Enjoy!**

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_**Prologue**_

It was bright for the dead of night. A full moon reflected off the black waves, illuminating the air with a soft glow. The gardens of Red Keep were eerily quiet and empty, save for a slight disturbance. Two figures draped in cloaks of black hurried to find a cover of shadows and away from prying eyes.

"The Tyrell girl has outstayed her welcome. The poor Queen has just lost her son and can no longer humor silly girls. We must find a way to discount the young lady's favor with the people," a gravelly voice urged.

"Indeed, the Queen has already set forth a plan to discredit the girl, but I'm afraid she has sworn me to silence. You may rest easy, Maester, for there will be riots when the people discover just how _charitable _the Tyrell whore can be," replied a cocky, young voice.

"And why should I believe that _you _are privy to the Queen's plots?"

"Because I know just how charitable our _Queen _can be."

"You'd do well to keep such information to yourself, boy," replied the tired voice. "The Queen does not like her private affairs to be discussed in the open, even less so in recent events."

"And you would do well to worry about the Tyrell girl, old man. Leave the Queen's temper to me," the young voice responded haughtily. A pause filled with thick tension polluted the air before the two figures scurried off in opposite directions.

A third party emerged from the balcony above, trying to catch a glimpse of the conspirators below. A pair of large blue eyes glittered with intrigue from being privy to the conversation that transpired. _Blast, _Margaery Tyrell thought as she was unable to spot the faces of the shadowed silhouettes beneath her, _but no matter. I've heard all I've needed to. _Margaery softly pushed away from the ledge and into the comfort of her rose-scented quarters. Her mind reeled quickly as she processed her newly gathered material.

It had not been a well-guarded secret that Queen Cersei wanted the Rose of High Garden to leave the capital, preferably in a casket. The Queen had been decidedly polite in front of the court, but that had been when she was affianced to King Joffrey. Since his brutal murder at their wedding, the Queen hadn't bothered with pretenses. Margaery would have been scared, had she not been so confident in her abilities to ensnare the newest King's affections. The utterly sweet, malleable Tommen was already halfway in love with her. However, she could not become careless and sloppy. Only a fool would become complacent before they had reached the finish line. Tommen's favor was easy to procure, but his meddling mother would do her best to stop any attachment on his part. Her coveted place in court hung in the balance. One wrong whisper in the young King's ear and she'd be thrown in the dungeons quicker than Ned Stark. The Lannister bitch plotted against her with the oldest trick in the book, attacking her honor and chastity. Though unimaginative and indecorous, it was a very effective way to damage a maiden's reputation. The smallfolk loved crucifying adulterers even more than they loved beheading traitors. Yes, she must move very quickly to ensure her position as Tommen's consort.

Perhaps, now that she had confirmation that the Queen had been taking lovers, she might finally gain the upper hand over Cersei. She just needed to extract a confession from one of her lovers. Margaery could turn the tables and use the Queen's adultery against her. Eventually, Margaery knew, she would need to figure out who those voices belonged to. She had her suspicions but it never hurt to be certain. For now though, she needed to protect herself by securing alliances. Allies were a commodity in King's Landing, and trusted allies were even scarcer so. Margaery quickly sat at her desk, lit a candle, and gathered the necessary tools to write a letter. If there weren't any trusted supporters _in_ King's Landing, then she would have to extend her reach and bring them _to _King's Landing. She knew exactly who to summon. After all, a girl couldn't get married without her beloved cousin in attendance. And, as they say, third time's a charm.

Desmera Redwyne lay with her golden hair sprawled around her head in a mess of waves. A gentle breeze sent wisps of curls to tickle her nose as the sun warmed her face. The sweet smell of ripening grapes filled the air as bees buzzed and birds chirped to a song known only to nature. Her thoughts were occupied by the racing wolves that had visited her dreams last night. This wasn't the first time she had had dreams of the large wolves, in fact, for nigh on a year she had had recurring dreams of the same wolves doing various things. Her favorite ones though, were like last night, when they ran through a forest, going as fast as they could. Each wolf was perfectly in step with the others, as though they had spent their whole lives doing so. She could feel the same freedom she felt in her dreams when she was out in her favorite meadow, fleeting as it may be. Nobody told her what to do out here, no one had placed any expectations on her when she escaped to her special field.

No doubt, her mother and Septa would be cross with the new freckles she was bound to be sporting. She grinned ruefully at the thought of her mother's displeasure, the Lady Redwyne was easily ruffled by her daughter. The blonde girl honestly didn't see what all the fuss was about, it wasn't as if her whole face was covered with the damned things like her brothers. She rather liked the faint smattering of dots across the bridge of her nose, it made her face more distinguished. Alas, she was raised to be a proper lady, and proper ladies neither freckled nor frolicked in vineyards unaccompanied. She sighed with a slight pout on her pink lips as she, once again, tried to resign herself to her fate. It wasn't that she was ungrateful for her lot in life. The girl knew she was far luckier and more fortunate to have been born into a noble family of The Reach. She had more privileges than most: she never went hungry, had a fine roof over her head, and was given the best education gold could buy. Though, what good was an education, she thought, if no one ever expected her to use it? What were those countless hours spent with strict tutors and hovering over larges texts even meant for if all she was expected to do was marry into a good family and produce heirs? The young woman of seventeen years shook her head at her own thoughts. Thinking like that would only increase her feelings of disappointment. Everyone had their own burdens to bear, and she was one of countless highborn ladies who faced the same expectations from their families. Besides, she was considered lucky to have avoided marriage for this long. Her cousin Margaery was married for the first time at fourteen.

It wasn't as though Desmera hated the idea of matrimony. In fact, she loved the idea of being in love. She just had no illusions that she would marry on sentiment. She just hoped marriage wouldn't get in the way of finding true love. The girl often fancied herself in one of her romantic poems, starring as the heroine that would be saved by a handsome prince in her time of peril. Perhaps, she would be like Lyanna Stark, swept away by dragons (Targaryans), and her betrothed would go to war to reclaim her honor. Or, she dreamed that her odious husband would have a handsome young guard who would be her only rescue from a loveless marriage. They would admire each other from afar, dancing around one another until finally they could no longer deny their passions. Her beloved would convince her to run off with him, and they'd live happily ever after.

As foolish as Desmera knew her fantasies to be, she couldn't quell the hope she had for her future. Setting aside all thoughts of wolves and husbands, she willed herself to stand on her feet and return to the castle before her mother sent guards to fetch her. She had responsibilities, after all, and if there was anything she had learned from her mother, it was that appearances were everything.

Later that evening, Desmera and her mother could be found in the western parlour room doing their routine needlework. Mina Redwyne saw fit to enhance her stitching session with one of her most recent, favorite pastimes; gossiping about Lady Margaery Tyrell's impending nuptials to the King. Well, Desmera thought, her third marriage to anotherKing anyway. Nothing had been set in stone, but rumors of Tywin Lannister's intentions of marrying Joffrey's widow to his brother were in the works. It was the respectable thing to do, her mother repeated several times. Desmera would have grimaced, but her Septa was sat across from her and doubtlessly would punish her for making a face at her mother. Septa Theres was an incredibly pious and stern woman, who took her duties to make Desmera a proper, devout young lady very seriously. If she were being honest though, the elderly lady probably had more of an aversive effect on her. She didn't much relish a religion that encouraged her being physically punished anytime she rolled her eyes.

Her thoughts drifted back to Margaery. Desmera knew her cousin had placed herself in a very dangerous game during an almost equally dangerous time of war. Margaery had always been the more ambitious of her Tyrell cousins. Desmera had never seen the appeal of politics. While the two girls had shared an interest in charity work growing up, Desmera had a sneaking suspicion that Margaery saw it as a way to curry favor amongst the smallfolk and in turn garner their support for any future political moves. She had merely gone to escape her mother. Still, her cousin insisted that having such indisputable power was the only way to inflict real and lasting change, and while her methods were a little manipulative, she did have a point. Her cousin had been well-groomed by their grandmother, and she would undoubtedly make a cunning, determined queen.

The Crownlands would be more stimulating, Desmera had to confess, certainly more dangerous and exciting, but held little appeal for her. Margaery had earned herself two dead husbands in her pursuit of the Iron Throne, and she didn't envy her one bit. No, Desmera thought, she much preferred her sunny, charming island of Arbor, provincial as it was, to the court at King's Landing. She had been once, with her father in her eighth year. All she remembered was the formality and the scary throne made of swords. But here, in Arbor, it was easy to forget there was a war ravaging the kingdoms and it was hard to imagine the destruction and despair. There were hundreds of miles of sea and land separating her from the battles, broken bodies, and plots. Arbor had barely seen the effects of conflict. True, her father and brothers were away, as were most men of fighting age, but they were almost always sailing somewhere away from home. Consequently, their absence was hardly noticed, unlike the host of hunkering warships that had once lined Arbor's horizon. Only small merchant sails littered the lively harbor of Ryamsport. Her father had been ordered by his liege lord and good brother, Mace Tyrell, to send his host of ships to sail for King's Landing as per the agreement struck between his family and the Lannisters.

"You could learn a few things from Margaery on how to land an advantageous marriage. Mark my words, she'll be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Lady Redwyne prattled on. Desmera fought the urge to remind her mother that the Seven Kingdoms were currently divided and that Margaery had already been a "Queen" and look how well that turned out. It was best for her mother to continue without interruption, lest she become the object of her mother's scorn. "You're just as pretty as your cousin, even with the Redwyne complexion. You'll be quite the catch now that you shall be cousins to the Queen. If that doesn't make you a desirable wife, then I'm afraid I don't know what will!" Of course, she had been foolish to believe her mother would not turn her attention back onto her daughter. Desmera murmured the expected "yes, mother's" and "of course, mama's" at the appropriate times while she tried to concentrate on her embroidery. She was working on a garden scene for a tapestry and was stuck on a particularly tricky rose bush.

"Why any man would prefer a _Frey _over a Redwyne is beyond _me_," her mother continued. Desmera felt her cheeks warm in shame. There had been talk of her marrying Ser Davon Lannister, but Lord Tywin Lannister had made it clear that wasn't to be her fate, as he had already promised him to one of Lord Frey's daughters. "I do suppose it was for the best, though, you can do so much better than a knight, perhaps a lord of a great house, and your sons will be heirs." She dearly wished her mother would shut her over eager mouth and change the subject. Luckily, her handmaiden, Angeline, had knocked on the parlour door with a letter in hand.

"Pardon me, my lady," she directed towards my mother, "but I have a letter for the young miss from Lady Margaery." Desmera eagerly tossed aside her needlework and snatched the letter from Angeline's hand.

"Oh do hurry up and read the letter, Des! Come, what news from King's Landing?" her mother shrilled loudly. She ignored her mother as she tore open the letter (Septa Theres tsked at her unladylike enthusiasm) and quickly looked over its contents. Desmera's excited features slowly fell from her face.

"Well, child? Don't keep your mother waiting!" Desmera gulped delicately, willing the bile that was slowly creeping up her throat to dissipate.

"My dear cousin expresses her love and hopes this letter finds us well and happy. She writes that Horas and Hobber are enjoying their time in the capital," she started slowly, "And she wishes for me to travel to King's Landing to help her through her difficult time of mourning."

"Ah!" the Lady of Arbor exclaimed. "Poor Margaery! Of course she needs you, you two were always so close. So tragic that she's not lost one, but two husbands at such a young age."

"Yes, mother, though I feel sorrier for the poor sod that has the fortune of being husband number three," Desmera replied, a scowl threatening to overtake her features.

"Lady Desmera! What a truly deplorable thing for you to say" scolded Septa Theres. Desmera ignored her easily. How very queenly of Margaery to summon her. Especially since she doubted that Margaery was upset about the actual murders of said husbands, but rather at the prospect of her desired crown being taken away from her. Mina Redwyne ignored her daughter and the Septa and kept on nattering.

"You will have many opportunities to find a husband in the capitol. This news couldn't have come at a more perfect time. A very welcome offer, indeed!"

"Yes, mama, extremely fortuitous circumstances." A familiar prickle formed behind her eyes. Angry tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She didn't want to go to the Red Palace, and she certainly didn't like being _summoned _by her cousin.

"We must send you with your best gowns and jewels, you'll want to make a great impression!" her mother chimed. Angry, she was angry. So very damned angry. She needed to get out of there, just a moment to herself before she threw a tantrum. Not long ago, she would have had thrown a wild fit of epic proportions. But time with her strict Septa, appointed by her grandmother, and many shuddering punishments had helped reign in that temper. But not this time. Desmera was close to unraveling. Her mother's incessant chattering was fueling her ire. Luckily, Angeline had noticed her mistress's distress and quickly intervened.

"Begging your pardon, milady," Angeline said, "Perhaps I shall escort the young miss to her chambers to help her pack for her voyage."

"A splendid idea, Angeline! Best we make haste, we wouldn't want to keep my niece waiting, and it will take Desmera nearly a fortnight to travel to the capitol! I must see to the preparations immediately!" Lady Redwyne bustled out of the parlour, her embroidery long since forgotten.

"Come along, my lady," Angeline said as she gently grasped Desmera's hand. "I'll be sure to have a pitcher of wine brought to your room." Desmera allowed herself to be lead to her rooms, fearful to be left to her own devices. Dread pooling at the bottom of her belly grew with each step she took, anger quickly evolving into an irrational fear taking over her body. There could only be one reason why Margaery would send for her. All was not well in King's Landing, and damn her cousin for dragging her into it.

Hundreds and hundreds of leagues away, in a land harsh and cold filled with people even harsher and colder than the terrain, a man of deep black hair and serious brown eyes was waiting anxiously for sundown. He had tried over and over to get a few minutes of shut eye as he would need both his mind and body sharp. If he wasn't sleeping, then he should be thinking on tonight's attack on Craster's Keep; however, his traitorous thoughts kept falling back onto a fiery haired wildling. He missed her, and he only had himself to blame. There was never going to be a happy ending for them, but somehow the truths he had used to make his act believable had gotten twisted and tangled. Somewhere along the way to Castle Black, he had fallen in love. Never before had he lain with a woman and he had resigned himself to never knowing the touch of a maiden when he had made his vows. Nobody would have wanted a bastard, anyway.

Wildlings had little use of titles. Until he had met her, Jon Snow hadn't known that being a sworn member of the wall was an undesirable trait when one searched for a lover, as well. But Ygritte had never cared for rules and lived her life the way she wanted. She looked passed his name and past and allowed him to touch her in the most intimate way. He would always be grateful to her for making him feel like a man worthy of love for, perhaps, the first time in his life. He wished he could have stayed with her in that cave for the rest of time. Their love was doomed, though. That warm, elated feeling in his chest was short-lived as things quickly soured. He had betrayed the redhead and fled for Castle Black when circumstances had revealed his true alliance. She had left him with three reminders of how he hurt her. That had been the first time he had questioned his honor.

He knew he would see her again, and he knew deep down, that he would never be able to lift his sword against her like he couldn't against the old man with the horses.

"Snow," Locke called. "The sun will be down soon." Jon looked up to the new member of the Night's Watch from his seated position and nodded before standing.

"It's time to put up camp, men," he said, banishing all thoughts of Ygritte from his mind. "We'll be headed shortly." It was time to let his simmering anger fuel his fight. Blood would be spilled tonight.

Not even after the third glass of her family's famous vintage red wine could Desmera dislodge the feeling of despair deep within her soul. Anger had since dissipated when she realized Margaery would never request her presence unless it was of utmost importance. The golden haired girl had never made it a secret that she did not want to go to the capitol. Clearly, Margaery could not discuss her suspicions in ink and could only relay her unease by requesting her departure from Arbor. Which only meant one thing, her mail was being watched. _What could possibly be going on in that place_, Desmera thought.

She reluctantly gathered a few of her favorite gowns from the ornate wooden wardrobe and folded them neatly into her travelling trunk. She would depart from the only home she had ever known in two days' time. Gods, she needed another glass of wine.

After pouring another large glass of the red liquid, she sat in front of her gold gilded vanity. She studied the crimson shade that stained her inner mouth from her indulgences. She parted her thick lips and traced her tongue over the hard ridges of her teeth. She had been lucky to inherit her mother's straight teeth. She counted herself doubly lucky to not have favored her father's looks. She did not possess the customary red hair and fair, overly freckled complexion, nor the dull watery eyes that distinguished the Redwynes from other noble houses. While she did have a faint smattering of freckles that dashed across her aristocratic nose, she had inherited her mother's Tyrell looks. Golden skin stretched over high cheekbones, permanently flushed pink, and dipped under a narrow jawline. She had a slightly rounded chin that she hated because it made her look childish, and not the woman of ten and seven years that she was. Thick, brown fringe rimmed big, honey colored eyes that were unpolluted by flecks of green and brown. They were pretty, she supposed, but her favorite feature was the long, wavy light brown hair that curled softly beneath her bosom. She loved how it gleamed a molten gold in the warm sunlight. Her slender frame, softened by delicate curves, was often victim to her mother's scorn. Overall, she was blessed with a handful of extraordinary characteristics on an otherwise average canvas.

Her cousin Willas had often called her the literal golden child of the Redwynes. Desmera had often complained at his observation of calling her a _child. _She had, also, rather disliked him pointing out how different she was from the rest of her family, until she became of age to appreciate the vast differences between her brothers and herself. She had curried the favor of her grandmother, The Queen of Thorns and matriarch of the Reach, above that of her siblings. However, she believed that hardly spoke of her character and much more on her brothers', Horas and Hobber, inept abilities. They were brutish and rarely sought to improve their intellect by furthering their studies. They had preferred eating and chasing skirts, while she enjoyed discussions with tutors, tea with grandmother and Margaery, and throwing herself into charity work. The best thing about them was their natural aptitude to sail, something that was the pride and joy of their father. After all, the Lord of Arbor Island was commander of the largest fleet in Westeros.

Desmera herself enjoyed sailing as well. When she was younger, she had begged her father to allow her to accompany him on small trips around the island. She loved the wind and the salty spray of the sea hitting her face. Most of all, she adored the sight of the sun glittering across the water with nothing in the horizon to hinder the view. She felt free and anonymous with the unending sea surrounding her. As she aged, however, her mother has insisted she remain on land and focus on her lady's studies instead of gallivanting around with her brothers and father, and soon she was hardly ever allowed to step foot on a ship for pleasure. Her father was hard-pressed to disagree with his wife about how to raise his daughter. He knew nothing about women, especially young ladies. Paxtor Redwyne preferred his ladies to be made of wood and tar. Ships were his craft, and besides good wine, he had little talents elsewhere.

Desmera's reverie was disrupted by her lady's maid bustling into her room. Angeline had been a god send during the whole ordeal. The maid knew her mistress was displeased with Lady Margaery's summons and had been constantly muttering words of comfort and sympathy while attending to her traveling needs.

"Come, my lady, I have drawn you up a bath and have added your favorite bath oils of lavender. It will help relax you." Desmera looked at Angeline gratefully.

"Thank you, Angeline," she said softly. The young Redwyne walked slowly to the bath. The wine had clouded her mind and she took care to not stumble over her long gown. A heavenly scent of lavender and vanilla immediately charged her senses as she entered the wash room and expediently discarded the chiffon dress. She dipped her legs into the steaming waters before submerging her entire body, sighing in the process. Truly, there was nothing more relaxing than a hot bath to soothe one's nerves. Her maid kneeled behind her head and started brushing her hair.

"What do you think it'll be like," the young lady asked her maid. Angeline stopped her ministrations.

"King's Landing? Why, I think you'll love it there, miss," she replied, forcing herself to be cheery. Perhaps her mistress would find her cheerfulness to be contagious. Desmera sighed.

"I'm not so sure, Angeline."

"What troubles you so, my lady?"

"King's Landing is awfully far from Arbor." Angeline resumed brushing her mistress's hair.

"You'll have your father, brothers, and cousins with you. They'll be sure to keep you company when you're feeling homesick. And," she started to hesitate, "I shall be accompanying you as well, if it's not too bold to say." Desmera eyes glistened at the devotion in Angeline's voice. She deftly retracted her hand from the water and darted to Angeline's wrist, once again pausing Angeline's brushstrokes.

"Thank you, Angeline. I will need you to help guide me through this."

"I'll do anything to help ya, miss. If it makes you feel any better, I overheard that Mother Theres has developed sea sickness in her old age, so she won't be accompanying you." There was that at least. Desmera disliked the old nag very much. Angeline resumed her movements, gliding through her lady's hair easily. The lady contemplated her maid. Desmera was only a little younger, four years her junior, yet the years between them did nothing to interrupt their easy bond. Angeline had pretty yellow hair and wide, bright blue eyes. Boys from the villages that made up her father's fiefdom were endlessly chasing the beautiful maid. She used to be jealous of the maid's freedom to love whom she wanted in her early pubescent years. Boys would try to kiss the maid, no one had ever tried to kiss her. She tried to convince herself it was because the village boys were afraid of her father and family name, but there were nights when she allowed her vanity to be wounded. Mayhap they did not find her pretty enough to kiss. The older she grew, her envy evaporated into well-regard and respect for the young woman. She only wanted Angeline's happiness and finally understood her family's expectations. Even if the village boys had liked her, she was not free to love them. She was destined for a nobleman's son or a lord's brother. She was a token, to be given to the richest man who'd have her.

"Will you miss anyone when we're gone?" the lady asked. The yellow haired girl smiled fondly.

"Yes, mistress. There is a young blacksmith, whose mentor just passed over the shop to him. He wants to propose."

"Marriage? That's wonderful! I had no idea," she said, feeling a twinge of panic. "Shouldn't you remain here by his side? I could easily arrange for you to stay, Angeline."

"Of course not, milady," she said quickly. "I serve you loyally and faithfully. I have been charged to assist you in any way that you'll let me. I do not plan on abandoning you when you need me most!"

"I couldn't possibly keep you apart!" she insisted, though her heart wasn't in it. She didn't want to go to King's Landing alone, but Angeline deserved to stay by her man.

"I do not hesitate in my choice. I go where you go, milady." Desmera thought it best to rest her argument until a later time. She had to help her trusted maid find peace with her fellow. She may very well not get a happy ending, but she would be damned if Angeline didn't get hers.

Desmera forced her thoughts of Margaery, King's Landing, and Angeline's beau away from her mind and let the steaming swirls overtake her troubled mind before she slowly drifted off into a sweet slumber.

The following morning, Desmera sent Angeline on numerous errands to keep her busy and had successfully avoided her Septa. Last night, after her bath, she devised a plan to meet with the blacksmith. "I'll need to bring presents for my new King. Perhaps the blacksmith will be able to whip up a dagger before I must depart," she told her mother. She prayed her mother did not question her motives, because there was no possible way someone could forge a dagger worthy of a King in a day, no matter how talented he was. Thankfully, Lady Redwyne was too busy arranging the sudden departure to comment on her daughter's whereabouts. She slipped on her plainest dress and tossed on an unsuspecting hat and ducked out of the manor undetected. She weaved her way through Ryamsport, dodging peddlers and fishermen to the shop district. A hanging sign crafted from blackened iron hovered above her head. She crossed the threshold and walked towards the back, hearing a clanking noise from outside. A young man of solid build had his back turned to her. He dedicatedly pounded his hammer against a white hot blade.

She cleared her throat. "Pardon me," she said loudly. The smith stayed his hammer and looked over his shoulder, quickly taking in her person. At first it seemed he was bored with what he saw, until he did a double take and swiftly dipped into a bow.

"Milady," came a strong, confident voice. "I apologize for my inattentiveness. Is there something I might help you with?"

"I'm looking for Erikur Barrows."

"You have found him, milady." She smiled brightly.

"My dear Mr. Barrows, I shall be plain with you. My motives for coming to see you are in the interest of my maid, Angeline." His eyes widened at the name.

"Is she alright? Did anything happen?" Desmera's lips twitched at his concern.

"Of course, physically she is perfectly sound. It is the matter of her heart that I seek you. Do you wish to marry my friend?" Erikur's eyes narrowed slightly, debating whether or not the lady had any ill wishes. Sensing his hesitation she added, "This is not a trick, good sir, but I request that you answer honestly."

"Of course, milady, I wish for it more than anything. Unfortunately, she is not so easily won," he responded somewhat bitterly. "She is to leave, anyways, as you well know."

"Yes, and I very much doubt she will remain behind. Nevertheless, it shouldn't stop you from giving her a reason to return as quickly as possible. I'm sailing to the Crownlands unmarried, but if my mother has anything to say about it, I shall return with a new name. I will be expected to leave behind all ties of my father's household, and take on new maids from my husband's. Angeline will need a good man to take care of her. Do you understand me, blacksmith?" Erikur nodded slowly, a determined glint in his eye.

"Aye, Lady Desmera, I reckon I do."

"Well, then, I guess all that's left for me to do is commission a dagger for my future husband. But dear me! I seem to have forgot my list of specifications. I'll have my maid deliver it later." She turned, retreating to the front of his shop.

"Good day, milady. And thank you," he said with another bow. Desmera had a twinkle in her eye.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you are speaking of, Mr. Barrows. Good day!"

It was several hours later that Desmera found herself packing away last minute baubles. She had sent Angeline to the blacksmith's earlier in the evening, and she didn't expect the woman to be back anytime soon. She smiled at the thought of Erikur asking Angeline to marry him, how they would embrace happily and she would kiss his cheek. Angeline was too beautiful to remain a single maid, any man would be proud to call her wife.

Someone knocked on her door. "Come in," she called, about to chastise Angeline for returning so soon.

"Hello, daughter," Lady Mina's high voice rang. "I see you are almost finished packing."

Desmera walked towards her mother. "Yes, mother, I have little else to pack." She gestured for her mother to sit on the ivory padded chairs that occupied the center of her room. They sat down, her mother pulling a small parcel from the folds of her gown. "I suppose it's too late to ask to stay in Arbor," she asked petulantly.

The Lady Redwyne narrowed her eyes at her daughter and nodded curtly. "The preparations are settled, you sail at daybreak with a small group of ships, including your father's gift to the King, _King Tommen's Valor._ You are expected to arrive in two weeks' time. Ser Tomas and a small group of men shall accompany you for safe passage." Desmera nodded her understanding. Mina looked into her daughter's eyes, unexpectedly emotional about her youngest child's departure.

"Oh come here, child," she said dismissively before gathering Desmera into her arms and embraced as if it were the last time. "You'll be a good girl. I know you shall make your family proud."

"I'm afraid mother," Desmera said thickly, tears stung her eyes and begged to be released. "I've never been so far away from home for so long before."

"I was afraid too, when I left my home. But before I knew it, Arbor became my home and Highgarden was a distant memory. You will be too busy at the Capital dancing at feasts and flirting with lords to miss your home or mother," Mina sniffed, trying to hold back her own tears. "Now, chin up, child. I have something special for you." Desmera obediently wiped her tears before forcing a smile on her face. She accepted the proffered package and neatly unfolded the wrappings. Her face lit up at the treasure inside. A beautiful pendent of delicate, golden swirling vines converged around a cluster of three deep colored amethysts.

"Mother," she gasped, her fingers ghosting along the beautiful design. "It's beautiful."

"Like you," Lady Redwyne gushed. "I wanted you to have something to remind you of home."

"I shall always cherish it. Thank you!" Her mother nodded before withdrawing from her daughter.

"Yes, well. It's high time for you to prepare for bed. You have an early start in the morning. I bid you goodnight." She turned on her heel and promptly left Desmera's chambers.

The young Redwyne unclasped the chain and fastened it to her neck, admiring its appearance over her soft bosom in the gilded mirror. She made her way to the balcony whose doors were opened wide, allowing the cool breeze from the sea to hit her face. The waxing moon hung high in the black sky and stars twinkled around, reflecting on to the smooth surface of the ocean. The line blurred between sky and sea, crafting an illusion that she was floating in the night sky. She would miss her home. She would miss her mother. Most of all, she would miss her freedom.

Dressed in a simple blue frock, Desmera blearily made her way towards her mother at the end of the dock. The morning had come too soon for the tired girl. Angeline had returned late in the evening with news of her engagement, beaming as she recounted every detail of her night. Desmera feigned her surprise and praised Angeline for her happiness and fortune. They celebrated early into the morning, imbibing more wine than they should have, before both promptly passed out on her bed. Indeed, Desmera would be paying for it later when the alcohol would pass out of her system. At the moment, though, she was trying her very best to not keel over in exhaustion.

"Goodness, Desmera, you look positively awful!" she winced at her mother's pitched voice. The old Septa glared at her dishevelment, but Desmera couldn't bring herself to care.

"Just a bit tired, mother." Her mother shot her a look of exasperation, but decided to not push the subject further. She drew her daughter into a hug, promptly disengaging to help stop the flow of tears. Her daughter's golden eyes reflected her own look of gloom. Mina touched Desmera's chin fondly.

"Be a good girl, Des. Try not to be a burden on your cousin, or Seven forbid, my mother."

"Of course, mother. I shall make you proud." Out the corner of her eye, Desmera spotted Erikur and Angeline exchanging tearful goodbyes.

"You already make me proud. Now, go, we mustn't keep the captain waiting!" Desmera hugged her mother again before turning towards the _Horizon_. The crew was already bustling on board, preparing to embark. Angeline positioned herself by her lady's side, offering assistance up the plank.

"Hold your head high, you are a Redwyne," her mother called to her. "Stay true to your family. Remember our house words!" She glanced towards her mother one last time, nodding in acknowledgment. Her eyes did not leave mother's face until she was but a speck on the docks of Ryamsport. She felt the familiar ball of dread settling at the pit of her belly. As she contemplated her mother's departing words, she latched onto her house words as a source of comfort, a sort of mantra repeating itself as though it were armour and shield to protect her from whatever was surely coming.

_In wine, there is truth. In blood, there is justice._


	2. Chapter 1

_**Hello! Please enjoy!**_

* * *

_**Chapter 1**_

When Ryamsport had disappeared from view, Desmera finally turned around from her perch and assessed the crew and ship. The _Horizon_ was a fairly large vessel, but was minuscule compared to the other two ships sailing in tandem with her traveling party. _King Tommen's Valor _was the most opulent of all three transports and she knew the construction of the ship had set back her family a hefty sum. The third ship, _The Vintner, _was Arbor's major merchant ship that delivered and sold her family's exquisite wine along the coasts of The Seven Kingdoms. They would anchor at every major port, thus accompanying the convoy only for the first leg of the journey.

Mostly old, sea-weathered men were attending the ship, with an occasional young lad scurrying about. The strong, able bodied soldiers and sailors that had once filled Arbor's port towns had sailed away with the large fleet led by her father. The old sailors completely ignored the young girls, giving them a wide berth, which Desmera attributed to captain's order. No one even bothered to look her in the eyes. Which is why she found it somewhat alarming when two astonishing green eyes sought her out across the deck. He was perhaps a man in his early twenties, with a lean build and tanned skin. Light brown hair was pulled back from his face with a leather tie. He wore a smile on his thin lips when he caught her attention and gave a flamboyant bow with wild hand gestures. Was he laughing at her expense? Desmera lifted her chin and pointedly looked away, deliberately ignoring Angeline's soft giggles.

"He's a handsome one, milady," she said good-naturedly.

"I hadn't noticed. Besides, he should be focusing on his work, rather than making a fool out of himself," Desmera responded tightly.

"Of course, milady. But I won't protest about getting to see his fine face for the rest of our voyage!"

"I wonder what dear Erikur would have to say about that." A low blow, but Desmera's vanity was wounded. She would not suffer a _sailor_, nor give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his fetching features, even just to herself. Thankfully, Angeline gave no signs of offense and continued on agreeably.

"Oh, he wouldn't worry a bit, miss! He knows I love him more than anything!" Once again, a traitorous pang of jealousy clenched around her heart. Before she could reply, a small, bulky man approached the ladies.

"Pardon me, yer ladyship," he greeted with a clumsy bow. "My name is Fredric, first mate aboard the _Horizon._ The captain asked me to show ya to your quarters. If ya'd follow me, milady." Leaving no room for response, he turned and made his way to the opening that lead to the quarter deck. She resisted the urge to glance back towards the man with green eyes, but felt his burning gaze on the back of her neck.

Fredric led the ladies to the end of the dimly lit hallway and opened a door to a decent sized room with natural light pouring in from the large glass windows at the back of the room. A large, green quilted bed was shoved against the side of the wall, opposite a water stained mirror. Towards the back, there was a bolted desk facing towards the door and a rather ornate wooden chair backed against the numerous glass panes. It looked suspiciously like the Captain's quarters.

"Would this not be your captain's room?" she asked Fredric.

"Aye, but yer an honored guest and a woman to boot. It's also the only room that locks. The captain has moved his belongings to a chamber next to this. I have been instructed to collect ye later to dine with him."

Desmera nodded her understanding, "Thank you Fredric, my maid and I shall manage from here." He gave a short bow and left quickly. She plopped down on the bed, fully intent on sleeping most of the day away. The spirits she consumed from the previous night was starting to catch up with her. Feelings of nausea causing her skin to break out in a slight sweat. She glanced at Angeline, who look unfairly immaculate, and gave a pathetic whimper.

"How do you do it?" she asked suddenly. "How do you look as though you've spent the whole morning at a bathing house, and I look as green as this quilt?" Angeline giggled softly.

"I partook in another couple of glasses of wine this morning! It helps lessen the effects of a long night. Would you like to try it as well?" Desmera groaned loudly at the thought of more wine.

Later that evening, Desmera stood outside the captain's temporary quarters. She had a new dress appropriate for dining and Angeline had twisted her hair into a pretty creation. As she entered, she noticed Ser Tomas was seated next to a robust man with kind eyes. Both stood on their feet as soon as she entered.

"Ah, my lady! How good of you for joining us, you do me a great honor by dining with me. My name is Eddwin Baywater, captain of this vessel," he said with a bow. Ser Tomas also bowed his head in respect.

"Thank you Captain Baywater, the pleasure is mine. I appreciate your consideration for my room. I am sorry to have removed you from your own chambers," she said graciously.

"Nonsense, I would not have it any other way. I do apologize for my absence earlier. Please, take a seat," the captain said, gesturing to the head of the table. Desmera obliged him before turning her head towards the knight.

"Ser Tomas, how are you?"

"Just fine, my lady," the tall man said formally. Ser Tomas had been her personal guard since she could remember, but he had never dropped the pretense of formality between them. He was a very serious man, and valued his position greatly.

"Ser Tomas and I have been discussing the matter of your safety aboard the _Horizon. _I have assured him that my crew would not endanger you in any way. I trust my men, most have been with me long before my captainship," Eddwin said with a practiced face, though Desmera could see the clench in his jaw.

"And as _I_ have mentioned to the captain, I am only concerned for my lady's safety. As much as I respect the captain's judgement, in my experience, you can never measure a man's character through words and promises alone." Desmera could cut the tension between the two men with her dinner knife.

"I appreciate the concern you have for my well-being, Ser Tomas. I know how seriously you stake your position." The knight nodded proudly. I turned my attention to the captain. "I assure you, Captain Baywater, neither Ser Tomas nor I doubt the honor of your men. I place my safety in both of your capable hands." Appeased, all parties present turned their discussions over to more trivial matters and ate their meal in relative peace.

After dinner, Desmera found her way up to the starboard bow, relishing the rush of air caressing her cheeks. It was a beautiful, clear night. She saw more stars than she could see at her family's castle and she felt some semblance of acceptance for the first time it the past few days. She would get through this predicament. She didn't want to leave Arbor, but she thought of the many women who had once felt the same as they moved to their husbands' homes. She was fortunate enough to know she would be returning in the short future to her place of childhood, unlike her married counterparts. The young lady remained apprehensive to what awaited her upon arrival in King's Landing, but at least the notion of returning home abated her amassing anxiety.

"You shouldn't be out here alone, my lady," a smooth voice spoke lowly from behind. Desmera jumped in surprise, placing a hand over her pounding heart. A pair of green eyes greeted her. The man from before, who had offended her feminine sensibilities, stood close enough that she could smell him, a pleasant scent of saltwater and fresh cut wood. The moon and stars provided enough light to make out his roguish features.

"Did I frighten you?" he asked with a smirk. Desmera quickly regained her composure, placing a practiced look of indifference on her face. His smirk deepened.

"Is there something I might help you with, boy?" she sneered. Desmera internally flinched at how snobbish she sounded. Where were her manners? The brown haired man straightened as he took a small step forward, causing Desmera to unintentionally tilt her neck to look up at him. The power play didn't go unnoticed, so she held her ground despite the urge to step back. She wouldn't be bullied by him.

"I was about to offer my services to you," he said suggestively. She was indignant at the innuendo. She may be green, but she had enough experience with sailors and soldiers growing up to understand crass suggestions and obscene language.

"I beg your pardon," she demanded. He backed up a few steps, effectively allowing Desmera to expel the breath she had been holding. He lifted his hands up in an effort to maintain his innocence.

"I only meant that I would render my services and return you to your room. A pretty noblewoman such as yourself has no business wondering about a ship at night without an escort." His face took on a look of seriousness, but a twinkle in his eyes alluded to a private joke he wouldn't share with her.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking aboard a ship without guards shadowing my every move, boy."

"Alric," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Alric Waters, your ladyship," he said with a perfectly executed bow, unlike his earlier attempt.

"How presumptuous you are to believe I cared to know your name," she said tersely, unsure if she liked the tone he adopted when addressing her. He was arrogant, though she developed no answer to why he felt so entitled in regards to her.

"I thought perhaps the good lady would like to call a man by his name, being learned in subjects such as civility and courtesy as a lady of your esteemed rank requires. Furthermore, I do not respond to _boy," _he said, then added as an afterthought, "_My lady_." She couldn't believe the audacity of the man. Never had a male besides her father dared to chastise her manners of civility. She was a proper lady of Arbor! She was his superior in many ways as he was named a bastard. Waters was the title given to babes born without fathers in the Crownlands.

"I must have missed that lesson along with the one where bastards may say whatever they like to their superiors." His face hinted at anger when she had said the word bastard, but he quickly schooled his features. A strange feeling of triumph washed over Desmera as she saw her words affected him as much as his did her.

"And here I thought nobility of the Reach valued manners and chivalry. I really should thank you for shattering that illusion! It's refreshing to meet someone who does not live up to my expectations." This time it was Desmera who stepped closer.

"Do not presume to know me, boy," she seethed.

"But I do know you," he spat. Desmera lifted an angry brow and placed her hands on her hips. "Noble woman like you are all the same. Spoiled, self-absorbed, and fickle." Seven help her, she was going to slap him.

"A minute ago, I didn't meet your expectations and now I suddenly do? Well, which is it, boy? Or are your thoughts just as fickle as I am meant to be?" Alric's eyes flashed dangerously, eliciting a small shiver to pass over Desmera's body.

"You might have a care how you speak to the men aboard this ship, not everyone will be as accommodating as I to your thoughtless slights," he said darkly.

"You might have a care how you speak to _me,_ boy. Threaten me again and I'll have you dumped at the next dock without pay."

"It wasn't a threat, Lady Redwyne, but a warning. I'd watch my back if I were you." He turned on his heels and vanished into the shadows.

Desmera was fuming by the time she entered her temporary quarters. She slammed the door and locked it tight while Angeline stared at her wide eyed and concerned. She had never seen her lady so furious.

"How dare he? What right does a bastard have to speak to me in that manner?" Gods, she was livid. She was angry at how he spoke to her, she was angry at what he implied, and most of all she was angry that he had made her lose her composure at all! He was just some bottom of the barrel leech, what did it matter to her what he thought? His opinions of her were based on suppositions, and she highly doubted he had ever been around other young ladies with his offensive mouth to form a solid estimation on _all _noble woman. He was no one.

"Uh, yes, my lady," Angeline said carefully. "Who is it we're speaking of exactly?"

"Alric bloody Waters!" she screamed, throwing her arms up in the air.

"Indeed, and he would be…"

"The good-for-nothing, joke of a man that you were making eyes at earlier today!" Angeline forced herself to keep a straight face. She found it highly amusing that her lady, who had never talked about boys before, was cursing and carrying on about a man.

"Ah-ha! Green eyes has a name. Alric is a good, strong name, although I prefer calling him green eyes," the maid said playfully. Desmera narrowed her eyes at the yellow-haired girl.

"I shall not call him anything. Henceforth, I shall not so much as glance in his direction." Angeline wanted to tease her mistress further about Alric, but knew her lady was not ready to hear her remarks on the subject.

"A very wise plan, milady. Now, sit down as I brush your hair while you recount every sordid detail."


	3. Chapter 2

_**Thank you for reading Desmera's story! Enjoy!**_

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_**Chapter 2**_

Rage had quickly evaporated into shame when Desmera awoke the next morning. She was absolutely mortified by her behavior with the baseborn man. Certainly, he was bold and, certainly, the realm did acknowledge her superiority of rank by birth, but a true lady of the Reach would never have so openly criticized a man based on his origins. She could hear her grandmother's lesson on dignified propriety: _When an agreeable young lady lacks decorum she opens herself to malicious gossip. Beauty will raise envy in the realm and as a result, the realm will resolve to constantly pry into her affairs. Uglier women and duller men will always look for fault in an accomplished lady, and if she does not take care to display proper behavior, she shall suffer the consequences._

By the time Angeline had prepared her for the day, Desmera had resolved to apologize to the young man. She had prided herself on her benevolence and she had grossly missed the mark last evening. She was going to be tested in King's Landing, of that she was sure, but if she responded as she did last night to transparent confrontation, she would embarrass her family. Or worse.

She fingered the pendant her mother gave her, a habit she had picked up in the short time she had possessed it, before she sat about the task to finish Margaery's wedding tapestry. She needed an activity to keep her mind off the man, and thankfully embroidering often required her full attention. The girls chatted amiably, Angeline dominating the conversation with topics that revolved around Erikur. She reminisced how they first met, planned every minute detail of her wedding, and expressed her excitement of their future together.

"He wants to build us a cottage in Starfish Harbor. We both want to get away from the hustle and bustle of Ryamsport. Starfish is small, quaint, and welcoming. He's promised to attach my very own tea room! I'll be able to entertain my own guests and I shall serve no one but myself! It will be the perfect place to raise a family."

"Starfish Harbor is perfect," simpered Desmera appropriately. "And you deserve nothing less."

Angeline beamed. "And we'll have lots of beautiful babies, seven or eight at the very least! Could you imagine? Blond haired babes with their father's blue eyes, all the boys shall be named Erik! And the girls will all be named Desmera after the most beautiful lady their mother knows!"

Desmera paused her needlework and stared at her friend with misty eyes. To name one's child after her was a great honor.

"Oh, truly, Angeline?"

"Of course, milady. Erikur and I have already discussed it," she said softly. "When I have daughters, I want them to be just like you. Good, pretty, and kind."

Desmera threw her arms around the pretty maid and squeezed with all her might. A joy blossomed deep within her bosom. Nothing could ruin her day.

He wouldn't look at her. For the rest of the day, Desmera had walked along the deck with Angeline and Ser Tomas moving about the ship closely. She had discreetly tried to gain Alric's attention, but he would not acknowledge her presence, much like the rest of the men aboard the ship. She was surprised by how put out she was by the notion. She had disliked his attention the day before, but now she found herself disliking his indifference even more. As a lady, she couldn't very well approach him without raising the suspicions of her knight. Ser Tomas would never let her out of his sight if he knew what had transpired last night. She huffed at his apparent lack of cooperation, for he must have felt her gazing at him with purpose. _Bloody bastard_, she thought. _He is more trouble than he's worth. _With her irritation reemerging, she quickly retreated to her cabin, reluctant to leave until she was to dine with the captain of the vessel.

The mood hovering around dinner was much friendlier than the last. Dialogue flowed easily between the golden haired girl and the captain, and even Ser Tomas had smiled throughout the meal, though he rarely contributed to the conversation.

"I meant to ask, good Captain, about a sailor in your employment."

"Aye, Lady Desmera, I'll do my best to answer. Has someone offended the lady?" Eddwin's question had prompted Ser Tomas to straighten in his seat. At this, Desmera quickly shook her head, not wanting to worry either man.

"No, no," she assured, grasping the amethyst pendant nervously. "Nothing like that. He was very kind to my maid last evening, and I wanted to thank him." Lie. Two days away from home, and she was already forgetting her principles. Ser Tomas narrowed his eyes, trying discern the truth from his charge. He knew her to be an honest woman, though, and accepted her deception. It was not unlike her to go out of her way to bestow her kindness unto others.

"What be the name of the man?" prodded the captain.

"I believe it is Waters, Alric Waters." The captain tugged at the end of his beard in contemplation.

"There's not much I can tell ya, milady. He was one of the new recruits we picked up on our return from the Crownlands. Hard worker, keeps to himself and a few other new recruits. It's hard being a bastard, not many are willing to employ them, especially in King's Landing. But I'm in no position to refuse hard workers, especially in a time of war."

"A wise mentality, Captain Baywater," Desmera said graciously. She processed the information. He had just confirmed her suspicions of his origins, he hailed from the Crownlands. She could use that to her advantage, gossip rapidly spread through the smallfolk. Perhaps, he could inform her of the goings on at the Red Keep. With a renewed sense of determination, Desmera quickly excused herself from dinner, telling Ser Tomas she was retiring to her quarters for the evening. Another lie, but she quickly dismissed it. She needed to talk to Alric alone, lest Ser Tomas discovered her late night wanderings.

The moon was hidden between ominous clouds, making her trek difficult. She had no idea where she might find the green-eyed man at this hour, but hoped if she wandered to the same spot as the night before, he would discover her. She heard bawdy laughter somewhere behind her and as she checked over her shoulder at the sound, she gasped as she was knocked back by a solid figure. A great, big man almost twice the size of her held her shoulders as if to steady her. A jagged scar twisted unpleasantly as a menacing grin unfurled, showing his crooked and missing teeth.

"Careful, lass. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, now would we?" The way he leered at her raised the hair on her arms. She needed to get away from him.

"I, um, apologize, sir," she stammered. "I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I was just on my way to my chamber. I bid you good night." She turned hurriedly, intending to retreat to her quarters, but was met with three more men circling her, all with foxed grins.

"Now, now, milady. What's the hurry," the giant man asked. "You'll hurt our feelings, ya will, if you don't join us. We're good company."

Desmera gravitated towards the middle of the increasingly tightened circle, consciously trying to distance herself from the sailors.

"Of course," she said with false confidence, "I don't wish to offend any of you fine gentlemen. Only, my maid is waiting dutifully for me in my room. She'll get worried, you see, if I'm not back soon."

"Ya hear that, men? She called us fine gentlemen," scar face said, amused. The other men laughed along before quickly sobering up at their leaders next words. "We'll show you just how fine we can be." He pushed Desmera into the waiting arms of his men. Two held her arms in place as she struggled against them, while the third forcefully grabbed her by the hair and waist. She was trapped. The lumbering man before her grasped her chin between his thick, dirty fingers, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Desmera's mind was racing and her heart was pumping so fast she thought it might explode.

"I demand you let me go this instant," her voice shook, an unusual high pitch coating her otherwise calm tone.

"You ain't in a position to demand anything."

"Stop, just let me go. I won't say a word about this to anyone!" The man ignored her and continued his advances. Panic, she was panicking. _Gods, help me_, she pleaded and sending a quick prayer the Maiden. She continued her struggle with vigor.

"You'll be sorry you ever laid a hand on me, I'll tell the captain everything!"

"Dead girls tell no tales. No shut your mouth before I make you." In an act of desperation, she spat on his face. He grumbled in anger as he wiped her saliva and expelled it to the ground.

"You'll pay for that, bitch!" When she started to scream, he smacked her so hard she saw stars. The man who had her by the waist removed his hand and placed it over her mouth and tugged on her hair painfully. Her desperation doubled as she kicked out frantically, hoping to land a blow anywhere on his person. The giant ripped at her dress, the cold night air caressing her bare chest. The pendant her mother gave her felt heavy on her neck as tears flowed from her eyes.

She was going to die, and not quick enough for her liking. She thought of her foolishness walking aboard a ship filled with lecherous men unaccompanied. How incredibly arrogant she had been, believing the captain's orders to leave her be could be enough to protect her. She was stupid, and now she would pay the price dearly. Thoughts of her family and her home left a pang of regret in her heart. She had hated the thought of sailing to King's Landing, but now she despaired that she would never arrive. Gods, she wanted to live. Her heart refused to accept defeat and though her struggles were in vain, she wouldn't let herself give up. She tried to yell out again, but her screams were muffled. The man roughly pulled at her breasts and as he started to pull down her dress, a sharp voice rang out. _Relief._

"What's going on here, men?" The beast turned around quickly to inspect the intruder. It was Alric. Desmera dismissed the feeling of hope that seized her heart violently. He wouldn't help her, not after she treated him with such disdain last night.

"It's nothing, Waters. Goa bout your business!"

"This doesn't look like nothing, Grenard. I'll only ask once more. What are you men doing," he asked dangerously.

"We was only trying to have a bit of fun with the lady! Ya can join in if ye want," he said as though he were talking about a game of cards. Alric ignored him as he looked at Desmera's wet eyes, a scowl on his face.

"I think you boys have had enough fun for the night," he said with authority, his eyes never leaving her golden orbs. The man huffed in defiance.

"We was just getting started," he said as he turned his attention back to Desmera's exposed skin.

"I said," he paused dramatically, "that you've had enough fun for the evening." Alric's tone brooked no room for argument. "Or have you forgotten our orders, Grenard? We have explicit instructions we must follow or we shall not receive payment." Desmera watched in disbelief as the man, Grenard, scrunched his face in irritation before withdrawing from her. The other men reluctantly released her and took a step back. She shook away the feeling of their grimy hands on her body before pulling up the tattered scraps of her dress to protect her modesty.

"Desmera, come here," Alric commanded. Automatically, she hurried to his side, ignoring his familiarity. Alric moved to shield her body with his own. "See to it that you men remember your orders in the future. Now go to bed." Grenard glared at the younger man, clearly displeased by being ordered around. As if it physically hurt him, he forced himself to walk away, hands clenched and the other men in tow. Once they disappeared, Desmera let out a shuddering breath before a dam of tears broke.

"Did they hurt you," Alric asked in a soft, low voice. He reached out, but thought better of it, and returned his arm to his side. Desmera shook her head, but sobbed harder at his tender voice and threw her arms around his person. Unsure what to do, he hesitantly placed a gentle hand behind the top of her head and soothingly stroked her hair. Her pulled her into a comforting embrace and allowed her to weep.

After a time, Desmera's cries alleviated into sniffles. She grudgingly pulled away from the man's comforting embrace, the fear of someone finding them in such a compromising position motivated her to stand an appropriate distance from her rescuer.

Trying hard to regain some of her dignity, she placed one arm over her breasts, as the other tried to pull the straps of her dress around her neck in an effort to temporarily fix her dress enough to retreat to her room. She was thankful for the dark night as a flush warmed her cheeks as she thought of how Alric had seen her so exposed. She was thankful for a lot of things at this particular moment. Especially for the man that stood in front of her.

"Let me help you, my lady," he offered as he gently turned her around so he could tie her dress for her. Tingles shot up her spine as she felt his warm fingers brush against the naked skin.

"Thank you," she whispered softly, after he finished fastening her gown. She ran her fingers over the pendant.

"Think nothing of it, my lady. Usually I am removing a lady's gown, not fastening it," he attempted at humor. Desmera appreciated his efforts to ease the thick atmosphere, but the gravity of the situation prevented her from smiling. Her discomfort was not loss upon him. "Apologies, Lady Desmera. That was in poor taste." She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He was apologizing for his joke, but last night's conversation had found his manners lacking. As well as hers.

"I meant thank you, for intervening on my behalf. I would be dead were it not for you. For that, I owe you my life." A brief glimpse of guilt passed over his features, but Desmera ignored it. "I also owe you an apology for last night. My behavior was abhorrent. You were right, I need to watch my back."

"Do not thank me just yet, Lady Desmera." She liked how he said her name. "I, too, must apologize for my behavior. I had no business troubling you, it is not my place."

"There is no rank between us now, Alric Waters. You have saved my life. I am in your debt. Please, call me Desmera." He look at her, shocked by her admission. Desmera smiled softly at him. "Does your offer to escort me back to my room still stand," she asked, referencing their conversation from the previous night. Alric offered his arm to her, which she graciously accepted.

"Of course, my lady."

"Desmera," she said automatically. He smiled at her.

"Desmera," he repeated. "The honor is mine." They walked in silence and before she was ready, she was at her cabin's door. She turned to him.

"Perhaps I ask too much, but I require more of your services." Alric raised a dark brow. "I was hoping you would oblige me by providing some insight to the capital's gossip, seeing as how you're from The Crownlands." He frowned.

"What makes you think I hail from King's Landing," he questioned. Desmera sensed his irritation.

"I asked your captain about you," she said, "I swear I wasn't trying to pry! I wanted to apologize earlier, but I couldn't find a way to do so. He had very little to say on the matter, only that you were a new recruit from King's Landing." Alric's jaw ticked, but when he looked into Desmera's worried eyes, his gaze softened.

"So, you were asking about me, were you?" A blush reddened her cheeks as she looked to the ground, playing with the medallion around her neck.

"Uh, you see, I hoped, um, I mean, an apology was in order and I…" Desmera stammered, embarrassed at his implication, before she noticed his look of amusement. "You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A bit, yes," he laughed.

"It is considered rude to laugh at a lady's expense," she replied in good humor.

"I thought there was no rank between us, Desmera," he said seriously. Desmera gulped as she nodded, thoughts of the horrifying incident resurfacing. He cupped her cheek, an intimate gesture she refused to ponder. "It would be a pleasure to assist you in any way you see fit and I shall relish the opportunity to be in your company." Desmera looked at him with wide-eyes, seeing the sincerity of his words. He stared at her intensely, his fingers ghosting over the ripening blemish across her right cheek. He sighed deeply before stepping back a few paces. Desmera almost cried out at the loss of touch.

"Sleep well, my lady." Desmera almost corrected his formality, but thought better of it. Maybe they did need to distance themselves after the emotional night.

"Sleep well," she whispered and then entered her room.

As soon as she had locked the door, Angeline shrieked at the state of her.

"Milady! What has happened to you?" She fussed over torn gown and the bruise the highlighted her mistress's cheek.

"It's a long story, Angeline, and I'm tired. Please, just bring me my sleeping gown and a pitcher of wine." Angeline nodded at her orders and quickly set about her tasks.

"You mustn't tell anyone what I'm about to share with you, you are sworn to secrecy," Desmera started, trying to get a grasp of her confusing emotions. She was repulsed at the memories of hands over her body, frightened by the threats of the men who harmed her. She shuddered at the image of her broken, bloodied body being found by Angeline, the light gone from her eyes, as Ser Tomas held back the weeping maid, his own tears falling from his cheeks. She had a brush with death, but even her demise scared her less than what the men would have done to her before she took her last breath. Horrible tales of women being attacked and used by men were always reaching her ears, but she never once believed anything of that nature could happen to her. Not on her sunny island of Arbor. _Well_, she thought, _I'm no longer on Arbor. _Her terrifying experience had shocked her, but it would serve well as a reminder that the rest of the realm was not all good and honorable. Then, at the center of it all, her conflicting feelings towards her savior frustrated her. Gods, she was grateful to the man, but how could she so easily forget the things he had said the night before? She hadn't trusted him then, but now she owed him a life debt. He saved her, surely that had earned him her complete and total confidence.

"Of, course, Lady Desmera. Please just tell me if you're alright," she begged as she handed the lady a large goblet of wine.

Desmera took a long, hard gulp of wine before answering, "I hardly know."

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Jon Snow wanted nothing more than to collapse into the nearest bed and sleep for a day. They had been successful in the battle at Crastor's Keep, but at a moderate cost. He had nearly lost his life late last night, but the adrenaline had long since faded into sheer exhaustion. Unfortunately, there were many things to do once they had returned to Castle Black, between making sure the injured were taken care of and giving reports to Alliser Thorn and Maester Aemon. Now it was near on 24 hours since they first fought and the Maester had finally released him after a tedious play-by-play of last night's events. He knew he really should find something to eat, but all he could focus on was keeping his eyes open long enough to reach his bed. As soon as he got to his quarters, he promptly rubbed Ghost's ears, stripped and fell into a deep slumber.

_He was running, faster than he had ever ran before. Everything was black and white but it didn't seem to bother him one bit. Nothing seemed to matter except that he was running towards something important. The ground felt soft underneath him, and when he looked down he noticed that he didn't have feet at all, rather a pair of blurry paws were swiftly pumping in a run. He quickly got over his new appendages and noticed he was on some strange sort of earth he had never seen before. It gave way under each step, finely grated pebbles cool to the touch, leaving behind small imprints. It was further proof that the reason he felt as though he was moving inhumanely fast was because he wasn't human at all. Rather, he was in wolf form. He kept on running, a feeling of anxiousness spiked through him. All of a sudden, in his colorless world, an astonishing gold light blinked in the visible distance. As he got closer, the glowing orb of light started to get bigger and closer. He soon noticed black, spectral figures chasing the orb. He knew this light was what he had been looking for and he needed to help it escape from these shadows. Just as he was about to leap at the closest dark figure, the shadows disbursed and the orb was all alone before passing through his wolf body and promptly disappearing. He howled at the orb's absent warmth, his grey world once again returning to it's monotony. _

Jon woke, unsure what roused him from his troubled sleep. It could have been Ghost, pacing back and forth, or it could have been his dream. Despite his exhaustion, a surge of restlessness coursed through his body.

"Did you feel it too, Ghost?" he asked his quiet comrade in a whisper. Even though Ghost would never voice his thoughts, Jon knew he had experienced the same warm and contented feeling as he when the orb passed through his being. They had always had a sort of connection that went beyond that of a master and his dog. First off, Ghost was a proud direwolf who had no true masters and secondly, they had somehow recognized in each other a part of their essence intertwined. They were bound by the Old Gods themselves. More than once, Jon had thought Ghost's eyes looked like the red eyes of the carved weirwood heart trees of the Godswood at his childhood home. He thought back on the story about wargs that Ygritte had told him one night. At the time, he was reluctant to believe that the bond she described was the same one he and his Ghost had shared. Admittedly, they had very similar qualities. Both the outcasts of their siblings, both were expected not to amount to much in life, but just as Ghost had grown from the smallest of the litter to the biggest of the pack, Jon too had grown into a larger destiny than he could have ever imagined himself. The white walkers were a bigger worry than the rest of the realm believed it to be. He would defeat them, or die trying, of that he was certain. Either way, he knew Ghost would be beside him no matter his fate.

Jon settled back into bed, his strange dream all but forgotten, when he realized that for the first time in months he hadn't dreamed about a fiery haired temptress. Jon wasn't sure if his heart would ever forget Ygritte, but it was a start.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Hello! Thanks for reading :)**_

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_**Chapter 3**_

Gods, she was beautiful. He knew from the moment he saw her rumpled hair blowing in the wind that his job had gotten a lot harder. He had only caught a glimpse of her face as she first boarded the ship before she had turned her back on him, but it hadn't prevented him from admiring her fine figure. The newly risen sun had cast a golden glow upon her untidy hair, exposed arms and delicate shoulders. The breeze lifted her shining locks and her southern style gown left the sides of her comely waist and lower back unprotected. He wasn't a religious man, but he thanked The Sevens for the Reach's taste in fashion.

When she had finally removed her gaze from the disappearing port, he decided he liked the assessing look she gave everyone. As she caught his intrusive gaze, her eyes widened slightly, no doubt uncomfortable being leered at. He indulgently smiled at her unease as a sudden desire to keep her attention prompted him to act on the first thing he could think of. He bowed, as one was expected to do, but in utterly exaggerated motions. She didn't even blink an eye before she stuck her nose up in the air and turned away from him, but he prided himself on garnering a small chuckle from her maid. He continued his stare as the first mate introduced himself, but was too far away to hear her soft murmurs. As the small party made their way to the cabins, he hoped she would grace him with glance but she never did. That did not put him out, though, because he knew there would be a time when she couldn't ignore him. He only needed to be patient.

He captured the gaze of a tall man in glistening armor, no doubt the lady's guard. The serious man glared at him, as if the knight knew what the young man was thinking, and effectively returned his attentions to his task about the ship.

Later that evening he sat in the mess hall, away from the crowd. He chewed his slop with a purpose when a giant man with a scar that lined his entire right face interrupted him.

"Did you see the girl?" Grenard asked.

"Aye," he responded shortly.

"She's a pretty little thing, ain't she?" The young man grumbled his indifference.

"The boys and I sure wouldn't mind rocking her boat, if yer catch my meaning," Grenard chuckled. He did, but he didn't particularly like the idea of Grenard and the other men touching her that way.

"Remember your orders, Grenard. We all have a job to do."

"Ack, you're no fun Waters," the giant said. "I know my orders just fine and I don't need ya remindin' me every bleedin' day!" He walked off and the young man was left alone once again. He preferred it that way. The people in his line of work were a vulgar, mean lot. He often wondered how people of their craft could go so long being uneducated. The sooner this trip was over, the better, he thought. His appetite sated, the man wandered the deck aimlessly in the dark. That's when he saw the woman. She was turned away from him, facing the calm sea. Moonlight ghosted over her bare arms. He looked around for the tall knight or the small maid that seemed to be glued to her sides, but saw no other movement. It was foolish of her to be out here alone, but he couldn't help but feel excited to find her unaccompanied. This was his chance. She must have been deep in thought for when he got close enough to touch her she still hadn't noticed his presence.

"You shouldn't be out here alone, my lady," he said. He grinned when he saw that he had startled her. Her unusual golden eyes were wide with fright and he couldn't help but admire them. He was going to enjoy this.

"Did I frighten you?" He watched in amusement as her sensual lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. If he had been a lesser man, he would have been intimidated.

"Is there something you want, boy?" She sneered the last word, and the man's amusement promptly faded. Boy, he scoffed mentally. _Boy?_ He was no more a boy than she was a girl. He hadn't been a boy in several long years, and had the insult come from anyone else, he would have cut out their tongue.

He took a calculated step towards the young lady, an odd disappointment settled in his stomach at her apparent disrespect. She was a brat, and he had plenty of experience with spoiled young ladies. If she wanted to treat him like a dirty sailor, far below her rank, then he would deliver. After all, he wouldn't want to disappoint her. "I was about to offer my services to you," he retorted provocatively. At her indignant cry of protest, he found himself grinning once again. No doubt she would be blushing at his suggestion. "I only meant that I would render my services and return you to your room," he continued innocently. "A pretty noblewoman such as yourself has no business wondering about a ship at night without an escort." She responded with a curt reply, once again calling him boy. Anger flared in his chest and he found himself telling her his name.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"My name is Alric Waters, your ladyship," he bowed sardonically.

"How presumptuous you are to believe I cared to know your name." His eye twitched and his jaw clenched at her manners. He was almost past the boiling point.

"I thought perhaps the good lady would like to call a man by his name, being learned in subjects such as civility and courtesy as a lady of your esteemed rank requires. Furthermore, I do not respond to _boy._" She might not have been raised with decorum, but he surely had, so he added a terse "My lady."

"I must have missed that lesson along with the one where bastards may say whatever they like to their superiors." He saw red at the word bastard. She was very lucky indeed that he was under such strict orders, or he would have slapped that triumphant look off her arrogant face. The bitch needed to be taken down a few pegs.

"And here I thought nobility of the Reach valued manners and chivalry. I really should thank you for shattering that illusion! It's refreshing to meet someone who does not live up to my expectations." He was good at reading people, something that helped him excel at his job. Smallfolk were vulgar and crass, nobility self-righteous and high handed. But, the noble ladies of the Reach were rumored to be kind and charitable. He was grossly disillusioned. No matter, he thought, it would make his work easier. He would have liked to call her a spoiled bitch and be done with it, but for some reason, he wanted to prove that he could remain cordial with civility. He was not scum, regardless of his surname. She walked to him, nostrils flared. The man knew he had frustrated her as much as she had him.

"Do not presume to know me, boy," she growled lowly. Oh ho but he did! More than she could ever know, and he told her as much. He was behaving boorishly, and he hated her more for it. She ranted at him, twisting his words back at him. He had had enough.

"You might have a care how you speak to the men aboard this ship, not everyone will be as accommodating as I to your thoughtless slights," he warned her. He wanted to spook her, but that didn't make his words any less true. Lady Desmera didn't balk.

"You might have a care how you speak to _me,_ boy. Threaten me again and I'll have you dumped at the next dock without pay." He wanted to laugh at her arrogance. He had no intentions of leaving the ship until he was good and ready to depart. She was a foolish girl.

"It wasn't a threat, Lady Redwyne, but a warning. I'd watch my back if I were you." He needed to leave her presence, before he said or did something he would well and truly regret.

Once he was under the deck, in the sailor's dingy quarters, he hopped onto his hammock and folded his arms behind his head. His anger had yet to dissipate, though, he was slightly ashamed at his behavior. He should never had engaged the lady. It was thoughtless on his part. He had a job at stake, and he needed to remain level headed. He could not afford to have his mind fogged and muddled with thoughts about the lady. He needed to distance himself from the brat, and before his eyes closed with sleep, he had resigned himself to stay far away from Desmera Redwyne.

The next day, he had found his endeavor to be successful, until he heard a scuffle around a large cargo box on deck. It was late and dark so most of the men were either in the mess hall or the sleeping quarters. As he went to investigate, a sharp slap resounded and was met with several coarse laughs. When he rounded the corner, his pulse quickened at the sight of Desmera struggling against several of the men that had come under employment at the same time as him, with the familiar stature of Grenard facing away from him. He was tearing the poor girl's dress, exposing her pert breasts to the cool night air. He knew he shouldn't have been so alarmed, no doubt she had provoked the men as she had provoked him the night before, but the thought of her being raped made his blood turn to ice. Grenard and he were already on shaky terms. Under normal circumstances he would never had agreed to work with a man so brutish and dull, but he hadn't been given a choice when he had been forced to take work with the oaf. _Stupid girl,_ he cursed internally, before he intervened.

"What's going on here, men?" Desmera stared at him, her face betraying the relief she felt at his arrival. Grenard turned to the young man, his face mirroring the girl's relief. He was no doubt expecting someone else and thought that Alric wouldn't stop him. He had no idea how wrong he was.

"It's nothing, Waters. Go about your business!" Grenard attempted to dismiss him, but he forgot who he was dealing with. The young man would not so easily be deterred. He asked again, menacingly, while still keeping his eyes on a much panicked Desmera. Alric could not remember why he had harbored such disdainful feelings towards the girl, her bold words had disguised what she truly was, a helpless, vulnerable girl far out of her depths.

When Grenard had offered him a turn with the girl, she flinched. His heart dropped at the sight. Did she truly believe he would stoop so low? Of course she did, he thought angrily. Had he not suggested the very thing that was happening to her now last night? He hadn't meant any of it, of course, but he couldn't help but feel ashamed. He needed to get her out of this situation immediately. If it came to exchanging blows with his colleagues, so be it. The men holding the girl would be easy to dispense, Grenard would be another matter entirely.

"I said," he repeated menacingly and moved to grab the dagger he kept hidden on his waist, "that you've had enough fun for the evening. Or have you forgotten our orders, Grenard? We have explicit instructions we must follow or we shall not receive payment." That seemed to grab his attention. Grenard was witless, but he wasn't so dumb as to not understand issues of payment. The other men seemed to understand as well for they released their hold on Lady Desmera.

"Come here, Desmera," he called. He fixed a glare on the men, daring them to make a move against him or the lady. Once she was safely by his side, he addressed the men again. "See to it that you men remember your orders in the future. Now go to bed." Grenard wasn't pleased, but Alric couldn't be bothered by the man. He simply watched them disappear into the dark night, all of them grumbling with the disappointing turn of events. His sights only returned to the girl when she let out a trembling breath. He took in her disheveled appearance, taking note of the large bruise marring her lovely skin, and a scowl settled on his face. He couldn't wait to be done with this job, he would make the giant man suffer.

"Did they hurt you," he asked softly. He wanted to touch her, but he thought better of it. She had just been through a sensitive ordeal and she might not welcome his touch. Alric became alarmed when shook her head and started sobbing. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her around him, seeking solace. _Seven hells, _he thought. He didn't know what to do with a sobbing girl, maybe once long ago, but now he had no clue what to say to the woman. Did he tell her everything was going to be alright? He couldn't bring himself to lie to her at the moment. Nothing was going to be alright for the lady in his arms. He settled for drawing her in closer. Perhaps, she did not require words. Maybe, all she needed was his warmth and to draw on his strength. He could do that, he could be her strength. For the moment, anyhow. Her warm tears soaked the front of his tunic, and with each passing moment, he found himself more reluctant to let her out of his grasp. When she finally pushed away from him, he felt an indescribable feeling of loss. He mentally scolded himself.

She struggled to keep the tattered gown up as she attempted to keep her modesty. He decided to help her tie the garment. He swallowed thickly as she turned her body away from him, exposing her smooth back. It was nonsense, the way his hand trembled against her skin. He was a man, and he had known the touch of several maidens. He had even seen her breasts for Seven's sake! And here he was fumbling at the sight of unblemished skin like a damned virgin.

"Thank you," she whispered when he had completed the task. She touched her necklace, something he had noticed she did when she was uncomfortable.

"Think nothing of it, my lady. Usually I am removing a lady's gown, not fastening it," he instantly cursed at himself. He was a blithering idiot! What an insensitive thing to tell a woman, it was vulgar and in poor taste. He apologized profusely, angry at himself for causing her discomfort after such a trying ordeal.

"I meant thank you, for intervening on my behalf. I would be dead were it not for you. For that, I owe you my life." He had hoped she wouldn't say that. He did not deserve her thanks. _I am a miserable piece of shit, _he thought wretchedly. "I also owe you an apology for last night. My behavior was abhorrent. You were right, I need to watch my back." He was slightly taken aback by her apology. Maybe he had judged her too harshly last night. He could not ever recall a time a noble lady had ever apologized to him. Or anybody for that matter. With a sudden clarity, he realized her also owed her an apology for his behavior. He had provoked her, after all, and he wasn't entirely blameless.

"Do not thank me just yet, Lady Desmera. I, too, must apologize for my behavior. I had no business troubling you, it is not my place."

"There is no rank between us now, Alric Waters. You have saved my life. I am in your debt. Please, call me Desmera." She surprised him further. Nobody had ever thought of him as an equal, not even his father. To the rest of the realm, he was known as bastard. He was less than dirt, a subhuman in the eyes of nobility. She couldn't understand how much her admission meant to him. Guilt ate at him. "Does your offer to escort me back to my room still stand," she asked, distracting him from his thoughts. He mentally shook his head and offered his arm to the beautiful woman.

"Of course, my lady," he said, but was quickly told to address her by her given name. Another surprise bestowed upon him.

"Desmera," he said experimentally. He had called her by her name earlier, but now she had granted him permission to do so. Somehow, the knowledge had made it taste sweeter. It was a lovely name, fitting of her rank. Soft and sensual just like her. "The honor is mine."

She remained silent during their trek and he racked his brain for something brilliant to say to her. He wanted to hear her sugary voice. Once they reached her door, she thankfully ended his silent misery.

"Perhaps I ask too much, but I require more of your services." He listened intently. "I was hoping you would oblige me by providing some insight to the capital's gossip, seeing as how you're from the Crownlands." Damn, he thought. That information could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Did Grenard mention it to her?

"What makes you think I hail from King's Landing," he questioned urgently.

"I asked your captain about you. I swear I wasn't trying to pry!" His jaw clenched. He'd have to take better care in the future to hide his origins. How could he have been so careless? "I wanted to apologize earlier," she continued, "but I couldn't find a way to do so. He had very little to say on the matter, only that you were a new recruit from King's Landing." His anger lessened at her worried features. So she had been curious about him, which was only natural after their encounter last evening. The captain, however, was a gossiping cow, and he'd have to make sure to deal with that later. He was a man who survived on privacy. He attempted to smile at the woman.

"So, you were asking about me, were you?" He liked how she blushed at his words. He smiled genuinely when she started playing with the medallion around her neck. She mumbled incoherently until she saw his teasing grin.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"A bit, yes," he responded lightly.

"It is considered rude to laugh at a lady's expense," she claimed.

"I thought there was no rank between us, Desmera," he said seriously. He knew she had meant the words in jest, but he wanted to be reassured that she had meant what she said earlier. It was important to him that she see him as her equal. Before he could comprehend his actions, he reached out and lightly cupped her face. Her smooth skin sent a jolt of electricity throughout his body. "It would be a pleasure to assist you in any way you see fit and I shall relish the opportunity to be in your company," he said gently. She stared at him, seemingly entranced by his low voice. He wanted her, but it was not meant to be. She was never his to begin with. He traced over the purpling bruise, angered by what it represented. He steeled his heart against her innocent charms and stepped away from the girl.

"Sleep well, my lady." He turned and walked away before she could reply.

His soul was damned and her fate was sealed. He had a job to complete, not once had he ever failed in his orders. It was what made him one of the best at his craft. No person, no _woman, _even one as pretty as her,would get in the way of fulfilling a contract.

Yes, killing Lady Desmera Redwyne was going to be harder than he thought.


	5. Chapter 4

**Thank you for reading my story! Please enjoy!**

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_**Chapter 4**_

The Seven had looked favorably upon _The Horizon_, for the next five days the occupants were met with helpful winds and fair seas. _The Vintner_ had already pulled off from its companion ships and had docked at the first main port on the southernmost point of the Reach. They had been following along the shores of Dorne for several days now and Captain Baywater claimed they were ahead of schedule which heartened the sailors. The happy atmosphere was infectious and Desmera and Angeline both felt relief at the prospect of leaving the confining vessel early and with it the monsters upon it. Despite her fear of running into her attackers again and the occasional nightmares, the following days passed pleasantly for Desmera. After making her excuses to Ser Tomas and the captain about her bruised face (too many glasses of wine and dark corridors did not mix well she had claimed), she found herself constantly in company of others, which suited her just fine. No longer did she walk the deck by herself at night. Instead, Alric and Angeline had made it a habit to join Desmera in her room after her evening meals with Ser Tomas and Captain Baywater. An easy ritual developed between the three companions; they drank wine, played cards and chatted amiably. Alric informed the women of all the gossip between the nobles at King's Landing he had occasion to hear. Perhaps some of the most unsettling of the rumors Alric had relayed were that of the royal family. Both girls had gasped when he told them that Queen Cersei's children were fathered by her own brother, Ser Jaime Lannister. If that were true, then Margaery was about to marry a child born of incest and there was no way her cousin or her grandmother were ignorant of such gossip. She didn't know what was worse: her cousin marrying a false king or that her family were willing to overlook the possibility for a chance at the crown.

Alric did warn the young Lady of Arbor, though, that he mostly gleaned the information from taverns of ill repute where the ale flowed easily and men often bragged to the whores they intended to bed. With a slight blush warming her cheeks, Desmera nodded and took everything he said with a grain of salt. Though Desmera knew that practically all men visited the pleasure houses, she didn't relish the thought of Alric participating in such vulgar entertainments.

Of course, when she spoke of her distaste at the thought of men paying for such indecorous acts with Angeline the next morning, the maid had simply smiled knowingly over her needlework.

"You know, I was once resentful of Erikur's dalliances before he met me. I once walked in on him kissing Maryss the kitchen maid before he started courting me! I still don't like the sneaky harlot, but I know now that Erikur would never even think to do such things again with another woman so long as I live! Men should always have a bit more experience than women, anyways! Could you imagine the wedding night if the husband was as much a virgin as the bride! Ha!" Heat once again engulfed Desmera's face, though she could not tell if it was the cavalier way Angeline talked about the marriage bed, or the implication of her words.

"I'm not quite sure that kissing and…and _lovemaking _are quite the same thing. Regardless, who or what Alric spends his nights doing are of no concern to me. I'm sorry that I brought it up at all," Desmera cried out.

"Men don't make love to whores, they fuck them!"

"Angeline! You shall refrain from using such language in front of me!" Desmera hardly ever chastised her beloved maid, but for some reason hearing Angeline speak of the young sailor, she mentally cringed at the word, _fucking_ other women made her blood boil. Angeline quickly sobered and bowed her head in shame.

"Forgive me, milady," she said dejectedly. Desmera's harsh gaze softened before she reached out and touched her maid's arm gently.

"So granted," she spoke gently, "I am sorry I raised my voice to you. I think I am only tired, and my moon's blood is due to arrive shortly." _And perhaps I am a bit jealous, _she thought before she could stop herself. Angeline nodded in understanding and quickly the sudden shift in mood evaporated.

Later that evening, Angeline was helping her mistress to ready for the imminent arrival of the young sailor, her subtle way of supporting Desmera's budding relationship with the young man. Desmera never outright told her handmaiden her feelings towards the man, but Angeline could tell by the huge smile on her face and her nervous fidgeting. Anything was better than the way she had looked a few nights ago, pale faced and tear stained with a bruise to match. Said bruise was fading quickly but Angeline knew it would take longer to heal the bruise on her lady's soul.

"How about a lovely crown of braids tonight? It'll emphasis those lovely cheekbones of yours," said the maid. Desmera gingerly traced the bruise as she gazed into the looking glass and sighed.

"As you say," she replied softly. Desmera had never been one to give much thought into her appearance before, but as of late, she found herself checking and rechecking her reflection. Nothing was ever too amiss, but she wanted to be certain she was presentable. Or beautiful, rather, for the one man her thoughts had been occupied with. Rarely was Alric absent from her mind. While vague about his upbringing, he would often speak of politics and stories of great men and battles. He was an excellent storyteller and Desmera found herself entranced by the smooth, smoky lilt of his voice. He was funny, opinionated, and always humored her handmaiden's harmless flirting. She had never been around a man such as himself, and never before had a man looked at her the way he did. Like she was the last drop of water and he was stranded in the deserts of Dorne. She didn't know if this was love, she only knew that she wanted to see him every possible moment.

Angeline gently tugged her hair into place and dusted a light powder over the bruise to ease the discoloration. "I believe Waters shall approve," the maid said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Desmera blushed before she straightened her back and playfully responded. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course not, milady!" A knock interrupted the pair and Desmera's heart fluttered wildly. She took a deep breath and glanced one last time at her reflection in the mirror before standing from her chair and smoothed her deep red dress. Angeline waited for her mistress's nod before opening the door and greeting the guest with a welcoming smile.

The air rushed out of the lady's lungs. He looked the same as he had the night before, but she thought he somehow looked better than she remembered him to look. His easy smile was turned up at the corner, a smile she was becoming accustomed to. _Be still my beating heart, _she thought. He ran a hand through his dark hair and laughed.

"Are you going to stare at me all night or are you going to invite me in?" he asked good-naturedly. He smiled as the lady he addressed widened her eyes in embarrassment and rushed forward to invite him in.

"Of course, of course! Come in," she said swiftly. Angeline bit her cheek from laughing at her mistress lose composure over the man. The Lady Desmera gestured towards the seats arranged around the bolted desk with a simple decanter of wine and three wooden goblets set out.

After they had all sat down, Angeline made work to pour the sweet golden wine and disperse the cups among them.

"How do you ladies fair today?" Alric said first.

"Oh much better, Waters, now that you have arrived," Angeline said without shame.

"You do know how to flatter a man, dear Angeline. You are looking lovely tonight. If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times before, your betrothed is a fool to have let you run off on your own! I've half a mind to whisk you away from him myself, if only to teach him a lesson!"

"And I've half a mind to let you," she exclaimed with exuberance. Desmera looked upon the display with a meager smile. She envied the relaxed confidence Angeline had when it came to interacting with the opposite sex. Desmera had no knowledge of how to flirt with men. She had been well informed of how to please a man, but had little practice in how to entice men beyond a pretty smile and a pedigree of good breeding. When her grandmother, Queen of Thorns, had spoken of seduction to her cousin and herself, Desmera found it prudent to ignore the lessons. She did not possess the raw sensuality Margaery controlled, nor the natural inclination of conversing with attractive men easily like Angeline. Besides, she hadn't wanted to leave Arbor to find an advantageous match like her cousin. She knew her husband would be picked for her regardless of her charms. In hindsight, she regretted not putting much stock into the surely necessary lessons of leading a man into temptation.

Alric turned his attention to the quiet lady. "And you, Desmera, how has the day treated you?"

"Very well, Alric," she said softly, secretly taking pleasure in the way he said her name. "I hope today's labors were not too difficult." His ever present cock-sure grin reemerged.

"The sun beat down upon us with a vengeance, but knowing that a lady as fine as yourself was worried for me made the heat bearable." She blushed, even though she knew he was poking fun at her. She wished he wouldn't say things like that. How would she ever be able to tell if he was serious in his attentions to her? And for Seven's sake, why could she not think of a decent reply?

Angeline, bless her, spoke up when her mistress did not. "Worried? Ha, I should think not! We would only mourn the loss of your coin that we win each night. I've never met someone as horrible at cards as you! You're a terrible actor, we can always tell when you're bluffing!" Desmera watched a strange look pass over his face, but before she could decipher its meaning it was gone, replaced by a laugh.

"My deepest sympathies would be with you, for I do indeed mourn the loss of my coin every night," he responded happily. "Now, put your money where your mouth is, dear Angeline, and prepare to lose! I'm feeling mighty lucky tonight!" The trio spent the next hour playing cards. Angeline found it just as maddening as amusing to watch the young couple before her dance around each other. They glanced at each other constantly, only to look away when they caught one another's eyes. She found her mistress's naiveté to be endearing, but knew that she needed a strong push in the right direction. It wasn't as if they had time to play the game, _The Horizon_ would be reaching its final destination in roughly a week's time, and if an attachment wasn't strongly formed before her lady's departure, Angeline feared the young couple might not find each other again. So, even though she was meant to act as a chaperone for the young lady, she decided Desmera needed a friend more.

"Milady, I have urgent need to speak with Ser Tomas before we retire for the night," she said suddenly.

"What could you possibly tell him that couldn't wait till the morning," Desmera asked obliviously. Angeline internally sighed at her clueless mistress.

"Well, you see, he dispatches messages back to the mainland by ravens, and I wanted to see if I could attach a letter to Erikur!"

"Oh, well, I could go with you-" she started to say before Angeline cut her off.

"No, no! I insist, his room is right down the corridor! I won't be alone but for a moment! Stay and finish your wine. You too, Waters!" Alric for his part, just nodded with a sparkle in his eye and Desmera looked on as the two exchanged a silent message. Before she could comment further, Angeline drained her cup and dashed out of the room.

Silence followed her departure. The air seemed to warm almost instantaneously and it was stifling. Desmera tried to find something clever to say, but her brain remained unable to form a single coherent thought. All she could concentrate on was how close he sat to her, and how they were alone in her quarters. Something that would ruin her reputation if anyone found out. She grasped her pendant and Alric smiled at the gesture. Thankfully, he broke the silence.

"Angeline is rather transparent," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.

"She wanted us to be alone," he said plainly. His forthrightness startled her.

"Oh, wh—why would she want that?" She inwardly cursed the high, sharp tone her voice adopted. He stood up and walked around the desk towards her, Desmera's eyes followed his movements.

"You look beautiful tonight, the red gown compliments you," he said uncharacteristically soft. He circled behind her, forcing her to turn her body to the right so that she could see him. He knelt behind her chair and swept her hair over her shoulder, exposing the vulnerable, naked skin of her neck. "You look beautiful every night," he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her back and causing her skin to raise in goose flesh. He smelt of sweat and wood and wind, it was intoxicating. Her chest heaved and she continued to rub her thumb over the deep purple stones of the necklace. She knew her face was flushed red and she sincerely doubted that it was the effects of the wine she had drank, and more to do with the man who was close enough to kiss her. _Seven help me, _she prayed.

"Thank you."

"You should stay away from me," he said seriously, looking deep in her eyes. _What?_ What did he mean, she should stay away. That was the absolute last thing she wanted.

"Why? I owe you my life."

"This can't end well, Desmera," his voice raised slightly.

"What won't end well?"

"Don't be obtuse. I know you see me looking at you. I see you looking at me. We can both feel it," he grabbed her hands in his. "But I'm telling you, you need to stay away from me."

"Why? I trust you. I've never felt this way before." Her heart was pounding and she was dizzy with happiness. He felt the same way she did! But if he felt the same way, why was he warning her to stay away? She was no expert on matters of the heart, but weren't two people who felt this way supposed to be together? She couldn't, would not stay away from him. Not now that she knew he felt the same way.

"You shouldn't trust me!"

"Why?" She stood up, anger replacing elation and confusion. "Tell me why I should stay away from you! Tell me why I am not supposed to trust you!" Alric was back on his feet, too.

"You just can't!" he yelled. Desmera's eyes started to water. It wasn't supposed to be like this. "It won't end well," he continued in a gentler voice. He placed his hand on her healing bruise and looked at her tenderly. "I'm no good for you. You will be cousin to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and I am nothing more than a poor bastard sailor."

"I care not. I know my family have expectations of me. I know my duty. But if this is my one chance for happiness, I will not run from it. I am no coward, and I shall not give up on it because it might not end well." Hadn't she fantasized of an illicit affair? This is what all the romantic poems she had heard the bards sing in the courts of Highgarden depicted. She would not shirk her duty to her family, but didn't she warrant some semblance of happiness until she was sold to the highest bidder? Alric stared at the woman in front of him, conflicted. He shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't stay away from her. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

"You do not understand. I am not good for you, Desmera," but he had said it with less conviction than the first time.

"Let me decide for myself." In a daring move she dared not let herself think upon, full lips pressed against thin for a brief moment. She stared deeply in his eyes, searching for a hint or permission to continue. Alric gazed back with a conflicted look, a pregnant pause hanging over the both of them.

"Seven be damned," he muttered. He twisted her golden hair in his strong hands and gripped the back of her neck before his lips descended upon her own. She sighed in pleasure. Surely this was how every young maiden dreamed to be kissed. It was warm, exciting, albeit a bit awkward for she had no idea what she was doing. He coaxed her moistened lips with his tongue until she granted him access and then she was lost on a high current of ecstasy. She may not have had any idea how to kiss, but he certainly did. Was there a school in King's Landing that taught men to kiss? If there was, she would have to write the High Tutor and send her regards. His grip on her neck loosened as he tugged her hair gently, turning her head to better access her neck. A soft noise of disapproval escaped Desmera when the sailor pulled away from her mouth, but was soon allayed when his scorching lips descended on the tender skin of her neck. His hot breath sent shivers as it hit her ear and she prayed to the gods that this moment would never end. He kissed up the column of her throat and made his way back to her mouth before giving her one last peck on the lips and touched his forehead to her own.

"My lady," he whispered. Desmera stood in his embrace, breathing heavily as though she had been racing down the beach of Arbor.

"Alric." He pulled back enough to study her face. His eyes held a quiet affection as they traced the smooth arcs of her swollen lips and the delicate curve of her cheeks until it landed on the fading bruise. And just like that the trance was broken and his gaze narrowed. He abruptly pulled himself away from her slender arms and cleared his throat.

"Forgive me," he said harshly. Desmera simply blinked before answering.

"There is nothing to forgive. I-," she blushed and lowered her eyes to the ground, "I enjoyed it."

"I meant forgive me, but that never should have transpired. Nor shall it ever happen again." Desmera scoffed, her ire rising to surface once again. What was with this man? His moods swung hot and cold so quickly and it was hard to keep up.

"If you're about to tell me that you regret kissing me, then get out," she said deathly calm. Alric swallowed hard. He needed her to understand.

"I am a bad man. If you were smart, you would stay far away from me."

"Spare me the dramatics, _bastard. _Get out of my room!" His fists clenched as he glowered at the young lady before him. When she saw he made no move to leave she screamed, "Get out! Get out! GET OUT!" She turned her back on him and tried to hold back a sob. She'd be damned if this man saw any more of her tears. Only when she heard the door open and close did she let loose the guttural cry. The sting of rejection and the shame of being embarrassed by such a man made her angry to the point of tears. She made her way to the bed and plopped down face first into the pillows.

The door opened once again and she yelled at the unwelcome intruder.

"I told you to leave!" She hadn't bothered to even look at the man.

"It's me, milady. It's only me," Angeline's concerned voice rang out. A comforting hand touched the back of her head and Desmera turned into her dear friends embrace and wept.

"I am such a fool, Angeline. I am such a fool!"

"Shh, it will be alright milady. Everything will work out for the best," Angeline soothed. She rocked the sobbing girl in her arms as she had a few nights previous. She hated seeing her mistress in such a state. She vowed to do better at keeping her lady safe, physically and with matters of the heart.

Deep below the women, in the dark and damp sleeping quarters of the sailors, Alric paced back and forth. His anger at letting himself fall in so deep with his target threatened to burn the first man to cross his path. He should never have let it get so far as kissing her. It was sloppy, and sloppy work would cost him his life. He should never have gone to her chamber the last few nights. His first impressions of her had been wrong; she was not a spoiled, entitled lady and it had only served to make his job tougher. After he saved her from the men who had been hired for the job alongside him, she had been nothing but gracious, kind and shy. The latter, to his chagrin, he found endearing because he knew she now had placed a misguided trust in him and probably fancied herself in love with her "savior." It was difficult for him to remember that she was an innocent, young girl who had yet to understand the motives of men. He had not been around virgins and nobility for a long time now.

This would not have been the first time he had been hired to kill a woman, and before now, he had never questioned his employers' requests. After all, it was not his job to ask questions. He was neither judge nor jury, he was the executioner. He did the dirty work of men who were too cowardly to bathe their hands in enemies' blood. For the most part, it suited him well. It was a hard and cold realm they lived in, and he had found a way to survive comfortably.

For some reason, though, he could not prevent the honey eyed girl from entering his mind at all times of the day, and the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, which he recognized as guilt, did not dissipate. She did not warrant death, she was just a poor girl sucked into a game of plots and political intrigues beyond her comprehension.

He had hurt her, he knew, after he pulled away from their admittedly incredible kiss. So much so that she had dared called him bastard. Even though he knew he deserved such words, his blood boiled. Her eyes though, the tears threatening to spill from the corners were enough to cool his temper.

"Blast it all to hell," he grumbled, his hands running through his brown locks. He could not afford to think this way. He would be paid handsomely once he completed this job, and he wouldn't have to seek employment for months. On the other hand, if he failed, he had no illusions on what would happen to him. His current employer was powerful, extremely powerful and no doubt found failure intolerable. It was his life or hers. Kill or be killed.

He stormed out of the quarters in search of his colleagues; his mind was made up. He found them all huddled together in the mess hall drinking loudly and playing a game of dice. Grenard was the first to notice the presence and crossed his arms over his chest and the jovial smile was replaced by a scowl. The mercenaries had not forgotten Alric's interference with Desmera, but he could not be bothered by it.

"Whad'ya want, Waters? As ya can see, we're a bit busy," Grenard said gruffly. Alric propped his arms on the table top and leaned his weight into them.

With a dark look, he replied, "Two nights." Grenard looked at Waters with a slightly confused look so he elaborated. "It happens in two nights. We kill them, we kill them all." A slow grin found its way onto the giant sellsword's face and a maniacal chuckle escaped his lips.

"It's abou' damn time! Sharpen ya blades boys. It's gonna get bloody."

"He did not want me, Angeline," Desmera told her maid exasperatedly. "I've already told you everything that transpired. Now can we please talk about something else?" For the past two days, all Angeline had wanted to talk about was what had occurred between the sailor and herself. She had never experienced heart ache before but as she was quickly learning, it hurt. And talking about it only made it hurt more.

Angeline bit her tongue, frustrated with the turn of events two nights ago. Clearly, Alric had his own demons to work out, for she studied the couple for five days and there was no mistaken the way he looked at her mistress. Something else had to be preventing the man from pursuing Lady Desmera, she'd stake her life on it.

She had always heard the other maids gossip about their mistresses. Usually bad things for they were jealous of how the nobility lived. Fine gowns, sparkling jewels, always a full stomach and a roof over their heads. Angeline could see why they would be envious. It did sound nice after all. However, being privy to Desmera's life and private thoughts had made her grateful for her own station. She was the server, not the served, but those comforts came at a high price: countless expectations, being sold off to the highest bidder, the utter lack of freedom that came with duty. She would rather be able to pursue love and make her own way in life. She felt sorry for her lady and no amount of gold and fine things could make her want to be in Desmera's silken slippers.

Thinking on love, Angeline's mind wondered towards Erikur. Every girl deserved to have the kind of devotion of a man such as him. He made her feel safe and when he looked at her, she could see the love he had for her. She did not regret accompanying Desmera on this voyage, but she missed him terribly. She was counting the days until their reunion and she could once again embrace and kiss and laugh with him. Her wedding would be beautiful, yet simple. A true testament to their love. They would finally be able to consummate their love over and over until his seed had planted in her womb. Oh, she couldn't wait to have little blond haired babies running around! They would be happy in the small fishing village of Starfish Harbor. Erikur promised her a house that she could paint whatever colors she would like. A bright blue door would look perfect! She would have a garden of peonies and plant lemon trees every time a child was born. The Lady Desmera would come and visit her family, and the town would be jealous that a lady of the Reach had come to see her.

A dreamy sigh escaped her lips, causing Desmera to look up from her needle work. The lady's gaze softened as she looked upon the maid's tranquil expression.

"Thinking of Erikur are you?"

"I miss him dearly, milady."

"He misses you just as much." Angeline smiled at her lady's kind words. "I'm so very happy for you. I can think of no one better who deserves such bliss."

"You'll be happy like this, too, milady. Mark my words."

"If only I could be so confident." Her handmaiden gave her a sad look, but was interrupted when Ser Tomas came flying into the room looking frazzled as he slammed the door shut behind him and locked it.

"Ser Tomas! Is everything alri-" Desmera began, but the knight did not let her finish.

"My lady, we are under attack! We must get you off this ship immediately!" Angeline gasped and Desmera let the words sink in.

"Attacked? By whom? Is it pirates?" she asked frantically.

"There is no time to explain! Angeline, I will lead you to the rowboats, but no matter what happens, your priority is Lady Desmera. You don't stop for anything." He pulled a dagger from his belt and handed it to her. "Just in case," he told the determined maid. Desmera moved to grab a few items before the knight barked at her to leave it.

"Be ready to move," he said right before he opened the door. As he swung the door wide open, she could hear faint yelling from above. Angeline yanked on her arm and pulled her towards the door that would lead them to the deck.

Nothing could prepare Desmera for the scene above. Bodies lay strewn about in black liquid that Desmera knew could only be blood. Shouting could be heard as sailors darted this way and that, anxious to find some sort of weapon to fight back. Across from her she could see the outline of a couple men slitting the throats of the old sailors. They never stood a chance; they were mostly comprised of weathered sea men due to the war and either never learned to fight or had seen too many battles. Angeline pulled her along the edge of ship, following Ser Tomas as he weaved in between the shadows and the large cargo crates. Blood pounded in Desmera's ears as her vision tunneled. She couldn't process what was happening. She had never seen so much blood before, let alone dead bodies.

"Alric," Desmera said softly. She hoped he was alright, she didn't want to think about him laying lifelessly on the dirty deck.

"Breathe, mistress, breathe," Angeline called softly. Desmera could only nod, but it was for naught because the maid had already turned her attention back onto Ser Tomas.

"Over there," he pointed to a single small boat. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized one of the bodies as Captain Eddwin Baywater. He was struggling to prop himself upright with one arm, while the other was pushing against his lower abdomen.

"Wait!" Desmera called. She twisted her arm of her maid's grip and rushed to the man. "Captain! What is happening? Are you injured?"

"Bloody traitors," he gasped softly. "They attacked- when most the crew- was sleeping." Desmera checked where his hand was covering and saw the warm blood pooling on his shirt. She gasped as tears fell from her eyes.

"You're hurt!"

"My lady," Ser Tomas called. "We must get you on the boat!"

"He's hurt Tomas! We cannot just leave him here!"

"No, my lady," the captain interrupted. "I won't- last- much longer." Desmera shook her head.

"I'm not leaving you. You won't die, you'll come with us!"

"Please, my lady," the knight called again. "You need to leave now!"

"Go," Eddwin said. "It was my destiny- to die- upon this ship. Leave- now." The tears fell quickly now, and she didn't bother to wipe them away. She did not want to accept her new friend's fate.

"Tell me who did this," she begged. "Please, tell me who is responsible for this mess!" The captain tried to loose the words from his lips, but just as they started to spill an arrow went through his throat.

"That would be me, whore." Desmera's hair stood on end as she recognized the gravelly voice. The large man with the ugly scar that marred his features stared at her lecherously. Alric had called him Grenard. Ser Tomas moved in front of both her and Angeline and raised his sword.

"Angeline," Ser Tomas called, his eyes never leaving the giant before him. "Take her away." Both Angeline and Desmera stayed rooted to their spots.

"Stand aside, old man. Ya don't stand a chance," Grenard called. The knight narrowed his eyes before he lunged, sword raised high and he swiped at his opponent. The scarred man waited for the last possible second before he blocked the older knight's attack before swinging his other arm and punching Ser Tomas in the face. The knight staggered but parried the giant's next move. Desmera couldn't look away. The two danced back and forth, both injuring the other but had yet to land any killing blows. The giant was surprisingly quick for his size, but Ser Tomas was definitely the smarter swordsman. Just when it looked as though the knight might win, Desmera saw another man join Grenard that she recognized as one of them men who attacked her. The two ganged up on Ser Tomas, and Desmera could see his exhaustion setting in. The knight kicked out at the newcomer, successfully staggering him long enough to stick his sword in his neck. As he pulled his sword back out and turned to face the giant once again, the giant had redrawn his bow and stuck an arrow in Ser Tomas' left shoulder. The knight yelled a war cry before descending upon the giant and swinging madly. He managed to cut the giants arm and as he swung his sword again, the giant grasped the knight's wrist and bashed his forehead into his nose. Ser Tomas dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

"No!" Desmera cried. At her voice, the knight turned his head towards his charge.

"Go now! Run," he barked. Desmera started running to him when Grenard took advantage of the knight's distraction and cut his head off with a single swipe. The young lady screamed at the sight of the man she had grown up with, his body still upright on his knees, headless and blood spurting out like the fountains in Highgarden.

"Milady!" Angeline yelled and grabbed her mistress's hand and pulled her away towards the opposite direction. Just as they were about to reach the boat, a familiar figure appeared and her heart leapt with joy. Alric! He would help them, everything would be alright now. She yanked once again from Angeline's grasp and flung herself into his arms.

"Alric! Thank the Seven you're alive! Hurry we must go, that awful man Grenard is behind all this," she exclaimed breathlessly. Alric didn't move or respond.

"Alric, did you hear me? We have to get off this ship now!"

"Desmera," Angeline called. Desmera turned to her maid and saw her staring at Alric in a frightened way. Desmera quirked a brow and returned her gaze to the man. This time she took in his appearance. He was covered in blood and had a strange glint in his eyes she hadn't noticed before. His hand hung limply by his side, weighed down by a short sword, black liquid dripping from its point and splattering onto the deck.

"Are you okay? You're bleeding everywhere," she said worriedly.

"It's not my blood," he responded darkly. His tone made Desmera take a step back. He took a step forward.

"Alric," she started carefully, "Alric, what's going on?"

"Desmera! Help me-" her maid squeaked before being cut off. The young lady turned her attention back to Angeline. Grenard had her in his grasp, a knife against her neck and a hand over her mouth. She tried to run to her friend's aid, but a pair of strong lean arms grabbed her from behind.

"Stop! Alric, we have to help her, please!" Alric ignored her pleas.

Grenard laughed. All too aware now, Desmera saw the entirety of her surroundings. No longer could yells be heard, instead an eerie silence besides the sounds of her heavy breathing could be heard. Pale moonlight shone over the bodies of forty or so men carelessly tossed about the deck, all lifeless. The glow from the moon illuminated the whites of their eyes and reflected against the dark liquid that pooled around their corpses. Everybody was dead. The other two attackers walked up beside Grenard, unsettling smiles upon their faces. Had these three men killed so many people? It was unfathomable.

"Alric," she pleaded again, "Help me, help Angeline!"

"No one can help you," he said in a low voice, his breath tickling her ear. Desmera's heart sunk into her stomach. Understanding hit her like a punch to the gut. She could almost hear her heart starting to crack.

"No, don't tell me you did this. Don't tell me you're one of them!"

"Don't be stupid, Desmera."

"Why? What is this all for?"

"Simple. Somebody wants you dead and they're paying me to do it." Desmera stared into Angeline's frightened eyes, no doubt a mirror image of her own expression.

"If it's me you want dead then let Angeline go! She's done nothing, she's innocent," she bargained.

Grenard laughed again. "She won't be goin' anywhere," he said. "She's seen our faces, she knows who we are. It's what fancy boy over there likes to call colladrol damage."

"Collateral," Alric corrected. "She's collateral damage."

"Thas what I said!"

"No, please, let her go! She won't tell anyone what she saw here tonight!" Desmera begged.

"Ha, you and I both know that I'm not that stupid," Alric said loud enough for the other men to hear. Then he added in whisper, "I'm sorry, Desmera." She would have scoffed were she not so afraid for Angeline and herself.

"Don't you dare call me by my given name, you heartless bastard!" He had the decency to not respond. She tried a different approach. "Grenard, please, don't kill her! I'll do anything, anything!" Alric's grip on her tightened.

"Anything will ya?" Grenard sounded amused. "You aren't in much a position ta negotiate, little lady." A sense of déjà vu tickled Desmera's senses. "What will ya offer me that's better than the gold that's waiting for me after I off ya?"

"Whatever you want! If it's gold you're after, I know my family will happily pay double the amount to see me and my maid returned safely!" The giant paused as though he was thinking heavily on the offer.

"Hmm, tempting, but you made this personal a few nights ago." With that he sliced Angeline's larynx.


	6. Chapter 5

_**Hello all! I'm very sorry for my long absence. Thank you for those who have followed, favorited, and reviewed. I was so excited that I had decided to write a bunch of chapters in advanced. However, after a reviewer mentioned that this story seemed the furthest thing from a Jon Snow story, I realized where I started my timeline of the story was all sorts of wrong. I mean, I had seven more chapters before I even mentioned him! So, after rewriting and hashing out the exact direction I want this story to go, I have decided to start the story with Margaery about to marry Tommen, not Joffrey. If you don't want to reread the previous chapters, that's fine, you won't be missing too many changes. That's just the biggest thing. It speeds up the story a bit so that way we can have some Desmera/Jon action quicker. That's what you're all here for anyways, right? ;)**_

_**On that note, I would like to say that this story will still take some time to heat up. This is Desmera's story, after all, and she has her own part to contribute to the crazy world of kings, queens, dragons, and white walkers. Once again, I apologize for the hiatus. Please enjoy!**_

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_**Chapter 5**_

Angeline gurgled and choked as she helplessly looked at her mistress, disbelief shining in her eyes. Grenard unceremoniously dumped her body to the floor beneath him and with it Desmera's heart shattered into a million pieces. The dagger Ser Tomas had given her clattered on the ground beside her, unused. If only she had it in her grasp now, she would use the giant's body to sheathe the glittering blade.

"You coward! Damn you son of a whore! Gods' damn you!" So raw was the pain that consumed her, the likes of which she had never felt before, that she barely blinked when Grenard stepped over her companion as though she were a speck of dirt and slapped her hard across the face. She could only see Angeline, her best friend for the last eight years. The blonde woman lay there helplessly as she tried to suck down air that would never reach her lungs, the spark in her eye slowly leaving, until finally, blessedly, her suffering extinguished completely. It was a gruesome and painful death she wouldn't wish upon her worse enemy. Well, perhaps now she did.

"I'm sorry," she croaked in defeat to her friend, "I'm so sorry Angeline!" She fell limply in Alric's arms and he shifted his weight to keep her upright. Angeline, Ser Tomas and Captain Baywater had all died before her eyes and she would soon be following her into the Stranger's arms.

Grenard poised his dagger at the column of her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing to die. Images of her family flooded her mind. Her mother would weep as her father held his wife's small frame, a blank look on his face. Her brothers would get drunk when they learned of her death and probably end the night by crying in some whore's chest about their dead baby sister. She saw images of her grandmother, trying to stay strong for her Tyrell cousins, especially Margaery. Dear, sweet Margaery would be in mourning on what should probably be the happiest day of her life, her wedding to the King. Desmera felt regret that she would not see her pretty cousin in her lovely wedding gown, no doubt grander than the ones she wore when she married Renly and Joffrey Baratheon. She thought of the wolves that visited her sleep and how she would never experience in real life the freedom she felt in those dreams. Lastly, her thoughts drifted to Arbor. Her bright sunny island of Arbor. She would never again see the rows of grape vines that stretched for miles. She would never see the colorful port towns of bustling people. She would never again feel the warmth of sun drenching her skin. As she sucked in the last breath she would ever breathe, Alric's smoky voice called out from behind her.

"Wait!" Desmera's eyes shot open. Why was he prolonging this? Hadn't he already won? He took her heart and now he was about to take her life.

Grenard grumbled. "What now, Waters? Let's finish the job and be off!"

"We shall finish the job! But perhaps, we could have a little fun." No, she thought, he couldn't be suggesting what she thought he was. Grenard grinned evilly.

"Damn you, bastard," she spat. She couldn't see the traitor's face, but if she could she would have spit on it.

"Now that's a fine idea, Waters. Finish what we started!" As he started to unbuckle his pants, Alric called out again.

"But it'll have to wait. We need to get off this ship and finish the rest of our orders before we miss our mark. We'll just have to take her onto the mainland with us. After we've enjoyed ourselves, I'll kill the bitch myself!" Grenard narrowed his eyes at the young assassin, before nodding his consent.

"Ya heard him boys! Let's tear this place apart!" The three men in front of her dispersed and started throwing cargo overboard and knocking down lanterns. Rope started catching fire as Alric bound her hands tightly behind her back and hoisted her into the small row boat. He set to work lowering the boat over the side of the ship. She glared venomously at the man who had tricked her.

"Why did you bother to save me that night if you were only going to let them finish the job? Why bother if you were sent to kill me in the first place?" He kept at his task, not bothering to glance in her direction.

"Look at me," she screamed. "Look me in the eyes and tell me why you saw fit to play with my heart before you stole everything away from me!" Alric stopped what he was doing and fixed her his full attention.

"Was it all a game to you? Did you have a good laugh with your mates at my expense? Let's see if we can get the wealthy lady to fall in love with her murderer. Congratulations, bastard, it worked! Just cut into my heart now, for there is nothing left of it already," tears clouded her vision.

"I told you I was a bad man," he said softly. "I told you this couldn't work!"

Desmera let out a cold, sardonic laugh. "I suppose in your head that exonerates you. Trust me, I no longer need you to tell me of your character. You've killed my friends, you killed Angeline! How could you dare to look her in the face when you knew her fate? You're not just a bad man, you are a monster!"

"I did not kill her," he said as though he were trying to convince himself.

"You may not have cut-" Desmera choked on the word, "her throat, but you are just as every bit responsible for her gruesome death." Oh Seven, what would Erikur do when he found out she was dead? What's more, how would he take it when he learned it was all because of her? She hated the man before her. She hated him more than she had ever hated anyone in her life.

"I know." Desmera continued to glare. "I know I am responsible. Angeline didn't deserve what she got, no one here did. Gods help me!" He threw his hands up in the air. "I can't go through with it! I've never failed in completing a job before, but I cannot kill you."

The air whooshed out Desmera's lungs and she shook her head in disbelief. "No. No! You are lying. Stop with your games, you've already won!" He jumped into the boat and grasped her chin with his hand.

"Desmera, listen to me. I know you will never be able to look at me the same way, but I swear to every god who will listen. You will not die tonight. I will protect you!" She wanted to believe him, truly, she did. But his word meant nothing to her. He was a murderer. Her friends lay dead not but a few meters away as proof.

"I don't want your help," she said defiantly. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"I will help all the same, now just be quiet and let me do the rest."

"You fatherless swine! I shall not be silent. I hate you!" Alric's solemnly shook his head at her before ripping the hem of her gown. Desmera cried in outrage before he whispered "I'm sorry," and promptly tied the fabric around her mouth, effectively muffling her shouts. She prayed to the Seven that they would see fit to strike him down where he stood.

Distantly, shouts of alarm could be heard from the not too far ship, _King Tommen's Valor. _No doubt the growing flames had garnered attention from the sailors, but help would arrive much too late for her. She did not _want_ to be helped. Everyone on this ship had died because of her. Desmera was the reason that many families would never see their loved ones again. She was responsible for every life taken tonight and she could never hate anyone so much as she hated herself. She deserved to die alongside Angeline, Ser Tomas, Captain Baywater, Fredric, and the countless other nameless sailors whose corpses lay scattered about the burning ship.

_Who ordered this, _she found herself wondering. _Who hates me so much that they could cause this much destruction? _Alric had told her that she had acquired very powerful enemies. But, for the life of her, she could not ever remember having any enemies at all. Perhaps a family enemy? Once again, she could not think of anyone on Arbor who disliked her father's rule. Arbor was fortunate enough to have a steady income for most people with the production of the wine. The wine was so desired by other kingdoms that most would pay a high price for a single barrel, thus enabling her father to pay fine wages. Arbor was a prosperous land, and the few poor that had consisted of mostly single mothers, widows and their children and orphans, Desmera had saw fit to champion for them and made sure that they had bread in their bellies and medicine when they were sick.

Her enemies must hail from another land, perhaps the Crownlands. If what Alric had told her was true of the nobility in King's Landing, she could imagine a number of people who were heartless enough to order her death. But perhaps it could be any number of people from the North or the Stormlands, which her father's ships were currently at war with at the capital's behest.

With that realization, Desmera understood for the first time that her world went beyond that of Arbor. She knew that there was much political unrest ravaging the realm, but it hadn't been until now that she recognized that her family _did_ have enemies beyond the borders of the Reach.

A sudden jerk of the small boat turned her attention onto the men that also elicited feelings of hate. The mercenaries all jumped in before the traitor bastard plopped the boat into the black waters and started rowing away from the flaming ship.

She may have wanted to die, but she swore that if she couldn't take their bloody souls with her, she would settle for inflicting as much discomfort and pain she could muster upon them. She would do it for the men who died tonight, but she would take pleasure in it for Angeline. Alric would suffer for his betrayal. And then, she swore, after her body was earth once more, she would haunt the wretched souls who ordered this from beyond the grave.


	7. Chapter 6

**Thank you for the continued support of the story. A special thanks to KBlack25 and DarylDixon'sLover, who have reviewed since the beginning, it absolutely means the world to me! On that note, I encourage everyone to review, I won't be that person who demands reviews every chapter, but of course it does make a gal feel good. Enjoy!**

**KBlack25 - **_As for me using Commander Mormont, it was purely accidental and a remnant of the previous timeline. I have gone back and changed it, but thanks for pointing it out to me! Hopefully, that doesn't put you out._

* * *

**_Chapter 6_**

The night was deceptively peaceful. The sky was clear allowing starlight and moonlight to help navigate the lone rowboat to land. A distant glow in the horizon from the burning ship was the only evidence of the atrocious crimes that had transpired that evening. A small breeze lifted small wisps of Desmera's hair and tickled her nose. She barely felt the nuisance as she glared at the passengers of the vessel. She was positioned at the front of the boat facing the stern and four sets of murderous eyes. She sat up straight and proud despite her bound hands and the cloth that gagged her. All but one pair of eyes contained repulsive, lecherous expressions. The exception was staring pensively at his hands. Desmera was furious that Alric didn't have the courage to look her in the eyes after everything he had done. She scoffed internally. A coward _and_ a bastard. This was the man who had been the sole occupant of her thoughts the last week and she was utterly ashamed and angry. Ashamed that she didn't have better judgment and angry because she had been distracted by this pretender. Instead of him, her thoughts should have been on the location of the ship. Instead of him, she should have been learning the names of each and every sailor that laid lifelessly on the boat.

Desmera desperately wished she had insisted that Angeline stayed on Arbor with her betrothed. _Oh gods, _she thought. _Angeline. _Smart, beautiful and loyal Angeline was gone. Her life prematurely taken from this world, her body never to be lain to rest, and it was all Desmera's fault. A familiar prickle at the back of Desmera's eyes forced her to desist her scorn, close her eyes and take a deep steadying breath. Her grandmother's voice rang through her ears.

_Never let anyone have the advantage of seeing how you truly feel. Give them nothing that matters for your enemies will perceive them as weaknesses and exploit them against you._

The young woman couldn't allow these monsters to see her cry anymore. She wouldn't give them the sick pleasure of seeing her misery. Besides, her face already itched uncomfortably from her previous tears. She took another deep breath, causing Alric to finally look up from his hands. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth as though he was going to say something but then, as if he suddenly remembered present company, he promptly shut it. It was for the best, she thought bitterly, there was nothing he could say that she wanted to hear, except of course, unless he was going to tell her to wake up and that this was all a dream. A horrible, vivid dream.

But Desmera knew, deep down, that it wasn't a dream. The heat from the flames of the ship and the pungent, tangy smell of blood had been too strong to be anything but real.

* * *

_The air was stale with a common stench of sweat, ale, and cheap scented oils. The boisterous patrons of The Ruby Crown were deep in their cups, oblivious to the three cloaked figures that entered the pub. All, except one. Alric Waters had specifically chosen his table: his back was to none but a wall and he had a perfect scope of the entire establishment, including its entrance. He casually peered over the brim of his mug, feigning a long gulp as he assessed the new comers with sharp eyes. Two larger figures flanked the sides of the middle, smaller figure as though protecting him. The trio made their way through the crowd, largely ignored by the merrymakers, headed for his table. Surprise would have etched its way onto his face, were he not a disciplined killer. _

"_Are you the one they call Waters?" a deep voice questioned._

"_There are a lot who answer to that name I'm afraid," Alric responded flippantly, wiping a speck of dust off the rim of his pint._

"_We have little patience for games, boy," the deep voice said and Alric's jaw ticked. "Is your name Waters or not?"_

"_Perhaps if you told me what it is exactly that you want, I could point you in the right direction?" The man who had been talking let out a growl, when the middle figure put a staying hand on their companions shoulder._

"_I believe one such as yourself is only approached for one matter," a confident, feminine voice chimed. This time, surprise did find its way onto the young man's face. He did not expect a woman to speak. "I have need of a sell sword, of moderate intelligence, and you have come highly recommended." He could not make out the hooded face of the female before him, and it put him at unease. Her delicate hand disappeared into her cloak before tossing out a leather pouch. A small clink could be heard as it landed on the table in front of him, no doubt payment for whatever the lady's request might be. "Have I your cooperation now, young assassin?"_

_Alric reached for the coins, tossing the hefty weight into the air a few times._

"_I'm listening."_

* * *

The gentle sloshing of water as the oars sliced through the sea did nothing to soothe Alric as he furiously thought of a way to save Desmera. They were meeting his employer's contact at an inn on the outskirts of Rainswood. If he had any hopes of keeping Desmera safe, they needed gold, and the contact would have the second half of the sum of gold he and his companions were promised upon completion of their task. He had only but one option to keep the lady safe, he must dispose of the other four men in the boat. He was confident of his abilities as a killer, but while the other men were dim, they were also experienced mercenaries. Not for the first time, Alric cursed himself for enlisting their help on this mission.

He had the distinct advantage of surprise on his side as he doubted any of the men suspected his change of heart, but that would hardly be enough to ensure his success, and he was reluctant to gamble Desmera's and his life on it. Luckily, he had the foresight to snag two bottles of whisky from the Captain's private stock. Drunk men were easier to subdue. Once they were pliable, he could easily separate and overpower each one.

A deep sigh broke his reverie. He hated seeing Desmera this way, bound and gagged by his own hand. She was trying to glare at him, though it was rendered less effective due to her puffy eyes. He wanted to tell her everything would be alright, but that would be a lie. Everything was not alright. She had witnessed the brutal murders of dozens of men, among them her dear friend and sworn knight. He had wrought this destruction upon her, and he had enough experience with death to know that the nightmares never faded. He might be able to spare her life, but she was doomed to relive this night for the remainder of her mortal life. Alric was unable to look at her any longer, how could he when he was responsible for her misery?

He lost track of time in the small boat. He couldn't be sure if it had been two hours or two minutes when he finally felt the vessel scrape against the shore. Thankfully, Alric could see no other persons on the dark beach, and he could make out the forest in the distance, no more than one or two miles away. They needed to take cover as soon as possible.

"Alright, men," Alric said, "We need to make camp someplace where others won't be able to hear our esteemed companion." He hated making her believe that he was going to allow them to rape her, but it was a necessary evil.

Grenard laughed loudly. "I knew ya was a dog underneath that fancy talk, just like the rest of us! No man can resist the call of a soft, warm body. Isn't tha' right, lads?" The other men laughed boorishly as they stepped out of the boat and pushed it out of the water.

"Let's just get going before anyone sees us," Waters said shortly. He grabbed Desmera's bound hands and gently pulled, hoping she would cooperate without resorting to roughness. She refused to move, turning her head away haughtily.

"Come along, Lady Desmera," he said coaxingly. She ignored him.

Grenard grumbled. "Enough of this brat's tantrum!" The large man grabbed the woman and tossed her over his shoulder, making sure to leave his hand on her rear end. She kicked and screamed, though it was muffled, as she struggled against his beastly frame. She didn't want him to touch her, those hands had been responsible for Angeline and Ser Tomas' death. "Stop your squirmin' before I make ya!" Instantly, her body became stock still. Grenard started stomping his way towards the cover of foliage, the rest of the men grabbing their supplies and following him.

Desmera was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor of the forest. The small group had made little work of their trek and had found a small clearing suitable for their purposes. Not a minute too soon, either, for a light sprinkle had started once they reached the wooded area and had now transformed into a full blown storm. Luckily, the trees were dense and big enough to provide moderate shelter from the cold element.

"We need to start a fire," Alric called, his voice barely heard over the rain.

"Good luck tryna find dry wood in this storm, Waters! Bloody freezing I am!" Grenard bellowed.

"Perhaps this might warm you up," Alric uncovered the two bottles of whisky and tossed one to the scarred giant.

"Ha ha! A bloody fine thief you'd make Waters!" Grenard pulled the cork from the top of the bottle with his teeth before taking a large swig and passing it to the other men.

"We need a plan before we get too drunk. We won't be able to make contact until tomorrow evening." He was getting concerned for Desmera who was shivering in her wet clothes. "Avery, see if you can find something for us to eat. Umbert, fresh drinking water. Grenard and Crantz, try and find anything dry enough to burn for a fire. I'll stay with the prisoner and hold down the campsite."

"Now, hold up there, Waters," Grenard said. "We ain't leaving you with the pretty lady, how dumb do you think we are?" _Incredibly,_ Alric thought. He was hoping to be the one to stay with Desmera, trusting the others little with keeping their hands to themselves. However, if he carried out his plan quick enough, he would be back before anything truly horrible could transpire.

"Fine, you stay here then. I'll help Crantz with the fire. Just try and leave some whisky for the rest of us, yeah?" The big man was appeased.

"We'll see abou' that, Waters!" With one last glance towards the girl, Alric followed Crantz out of the clearing. He needed to hurry if he wanted to make sure the giant oaf didn't hurt Desmera anymore than he already had.

"Fine, bloody job you assigned us, Waters," Crantz said displeased. He turned his small back on Alric, occasionally turning over logs with his foot. The young man responded when he felt they were far enough away from camp.

"It could be worse, Crantz."

"How so?" he asked as he turned to face the man.

"You could be dead." Before Crantz could register what he said, Alric struck his heart with a dagger efficiently. The mercenary fell forward, Alric sidestepping to avoid his path. The rain drowned out the subsequent thump and Alric made quick work of moving the body behind some shrubs. It would be easy to spot the body in the morning, but it would serve well enough in the dead of night. Adrenaline pumping, he grabbed the deceased's weapons, two daggers and a sword, and hastily fastened them to his person.

Now, he just needed to track down Avery and Umbert. Easy enough, as he could hear the former singing a ditty only a 15 or so meters away. Stealthily he weaved his way through the forest. He rolled his eyes in annoyance, if he had actually expected Avery to return with food, the foolish man would have come back empty handed, with all the racket he was making. Alric grabbed one of Crantz's daggers and threw it at the singing sell sword's back. Avery choked out a startled cry and lifted a hand to his back, as though in disbelief. He spun belligerently on his heel, eyes wide when he was greeted by Waters. Without remorse, Alric placed both hands on his head and snapped the man's neck. He grabbed the dagger, wiped the blood on Avery's shirt, and grabbed the dead man's bow and quiver.

He could hear the gentle babbling of a creek nearby and he went in the direction of the running water to find Umbert. Alric found the elder man hunched down, filling the water skins. With the bow, he notched an arrow, took a steadying breath and let it fly. Quickly, he aimed another, and another. With a loud splash, Umbert fell into the creek face first. Alric approached cautiously, another arrow ready to fire just in case. He kicked the man over onto his back and saw that Umbert was, indeed, dead with a dribble of blood excreting from his mouth. Satisfied, he grabbed the water skins, moved up stream and refilled them.

Three down, only one more to go, he thought. Grenard would be his biggest challenge, but he was hoping that the beast had finished most of the bottle and would be well on his way to intoxication. Alric made his way to back to the camp, making sure to deposit his newly acquired gear in a tree stump he could easily retrace his steps to. He found a few dry twigs and sticks for kindling and reemerged into the clearing.

His eyes first found Desmera, who was huddled in the same spot, shaking violently. She was alone however, as Grenard was absent. He reasoned that Grenard had perhaps gone off to take a piss and made his way to the lady. He took the blanket from his pack, thankfully it had remained dry, knelt down in front of her and wrapped it around her shoulders. He turned to set about making the fire. It took several tries, but eventually he produced a spark big enough to catch onto the kindling and finally he could see the state of Desmera properly.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy with trails of tears on each cheek, cutting through dirt, ash, and blood spatters. Her hair was sticking up in the back from the cloth wrapped around her mouth. She still shivered, but Alric wondered if it was because she was cold or if it was a state of shock. He returned to his spot in front of her.

"Everything's going to be okay, Desmera. We just need Grenard to get back and then-" he stopped talking as Desmera's eyes widened in fear. A twig snapped from behind him and, without thought, he pushed her body flat on the ground, his body shielding hers just in time as he heard an arrow whistle above them.

"Stay down!" he said loudly. Without missing a beat, Alric grabbed his dagger from his waist and twisted onto his back to get a good look at the assailant. Grenard was stomping back into the clearing, bow pulled tight.

"I knew youz couldn't be trusted, ya bastard! I found Crantz' body in the bush I was takin' a leak at!" He loosed the arrow, but missed. Both men seemed shocked at his bad aim. It seemed as though the giant had indulged in the strong spirit, Alric thought, for Grenard rarely missed. The young man used the temporary stupor to his advantage and threw his dagger. It sank into the big man's left shoulder. Grenard howled in pain and grasped the hilt before pulling it out. It wasn't exactly a killer blow, but Alric had rendered him unable to shoot his bow, making it impossible for Grenard to harm him from long ranges, evening the playing field a bit. Both men sized each other up, unsure of who would strike next.

"I'm gonna kill ya, Waters! I'm gonna kill ya and then fuck yer bitch in front of yer rotting corpse and then kill her too! I swear it, I'm gonna kill ya!" Grenard charged with his sword, and Alric barely had time to block it with his own blade. The giant hit with such a force that Alric lost his footing and stumbled back. Grenard lifted his sword with both arms for a powerful swipe but missed as the brown haired lad rolled away and propelled himself back onto his feet, raising his sword once again. He struck out at the large man, only to be met with resistance as Grenard parried his attack. The two met blow for blow, until finally Alric disarmed him. Just as Alric went in for the kill, Grenard grabbed Alric's sword arm and used pure, brute strength to hold him off. Grenard punched Alric in the face with his free arm and he went flying back, a tree the only thing stopping him from toppling over. Alric tried to catch his breath but Grenard descended upon him, fists ready to beat him to a pulp. Once again, Alric tried to swing at him with his blade, but Grenard was able to knock it out of his hand. The boy scrambled to the forest floor in effort to reclaim his sword. His ankle was gripped and he was pulled back towards the giant just as the weapon was in his reach. Grenard pinned Alric underneath him and wrapped his hands around the column of his throat and squeezed. He clawed at the beast's thick hands, and then his face when he realized Grenard's grip wouldn't loosen. He started to see stars as he flailed about, looking for anything in his reach that could help him. His hands found a stick and he thrust it into the giant's eye. Immediately, Grenard fell off of him and let out a guttural roar. He took a few moments to suck in precious air, panting as he watched the brute wail in agony, the stick deeply lodged in his left eye. Alric slowly forced himself onto his feet and retrieved his fallen sword. Warily, he approached the man. Grenard blindly punched out, unable to focus on the smaller man in front of him. Desperately, he moved to tackle Waters once more but promptly froze as Alric lifted his sword and struck him in the belly.

They were quite a sight, Desmera thought as she watched from the sidelines. The giant was frozen, his twisted face inches away from Alric's smooth one. Blood poured from his mouth and eye as Alric breathlessly watched the life fade from his body.

"Rot in hell, you fucking cunt," Alric said venomously. He used his foot as leverage against Grenard's body and pulled his sword from his carcass. The one-eyed man fell onto his side, dark liquid pooling around his body. Alric sluggishly turned towards Desmera and stumbled towards her. He fell to his knees in exhaustion, his sword thrown carelessly on the ground beside him.

"Are you alright," he asked her, his voice raspy as it pained him to talk. He removed the gag and she immediately licked the corners of her mouth. They were rubbed raw and chapped. He smoothed her hair down and pulled her close to him as he wrapped his arms around her shaking figure. She squeaked in protest before she found her voice.

"Let-let me go! Don't you dare touch me!" Alric didn't care, he had almost died to save this girl, and he was going to hold her for as long as he needed.

"Shh," he said gently. "Just stop. Everything is okay now. I killed them. I killed them all for you."

"No! You didn't do it for me, you did it for yourself. So you could stop feeling guilty for killing all those innocent lives on _The Horizon_!" He flinched at her words. He did feel guilty. For the first time in a long time, he regretted his profession. He pulled back from her. "Get away from me," she said weakly.

He distanced himself slightly. "I'm going to release you from your binds, but you have to promise you won't run away. You don't know where we are, and it's dangerous for a woman to be by herself at night." Her steely gaze narrowed in defiance. "Please, Desmera. I beg of you."

"Do not address me so informally," she said bitingly. A pang of sorrow stabbed at his heart, but otherwise he showed no indication that her words bothered him. He grabbed his sword and cut the rope around her wrists.

She rubbed her slender wrists, rope burns evident and once again, Alric felt regret.

"Stay here, I'll fetch the water and weapons I took off the others."

"What makes you think I'll be here when you get back?"

"You won't make it very far without my help," he said matter-of-factly. She scowled in response. He left quickly, leaving Desmera with Grenard's body. She slowly got to her feet and examined his corpse with a sick sense of satisfaction.

"Rot in hell," she repeated Alric's words in a whisper. Her hand grasped the pendent her mother gave her as she spat on his corpse and thought of her house words. She had always had a fondness of wine, but Desmera was quickly developing a taste for blood as well.

Alric was back in record time, plopping the supplies in front of the small fire. He uncorked a water skin and took long, deep gulps of water to help soothe his throat. A sigh fell from his lips. Hells, this had been a long day for him.

"Here," he said to Desmera, "drink this." He tossed the other bag to her. She caught the leather and oiled bag and greedily raised the skin to her mouth, chugging the cool liquid. It was sweeter than her family's golden wine, but she wanted something stronger. As if reading her mind, Alric pulled out the other full bottle of whisky from his pack. He took a long, hard drink before offering it to her.

"I'm not drinking with you," she said sharply, though she longed for the familiar fuzziness that accompanied alcohol.

"If nothing else, it'll keep you warm," he said, not put off by her tone at all. She cursed how easily he had convinced her. She was freezing, and she didn't want to think about this evening's events. Desmera took the proffered drink, closed her eyes and chugged until the whisky burn made her cough. She blinked back the moisture that forced its way to her eyes.

The two sat in silence as they shared the bottle in front of the dying fire. She didn't know how much time had passed, but before Desmera knew it, the bottle was empty and she felt the need to relieve herself. When she told Alric as much, he just told her not to wander too far. She stumbled her way to the edge of the clearing. A silver glint caught her eye. She turned to look back at Alric to see if he was paying attention to her, but he was staring into the flames, lost in thought. She grabbed one of the daggers that lay atop the supplies Alric had dumped earlier and hid it in her sleeve. She finished her business and returned to Alric's side. He hadn't moved from his pensive position.

She tried to breathe normally, but the anticipation of what she was about to do was almost crippling. She clutched the hilt of the dagger, hidden from his view under the blanket. Before she could talk herself out of it, Desmera pounced onto to Alric, dagger pointed at his throat.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end your life," she whispered in a deadly tone. Alric looked up at her with an emotion she couldn't interpret.

"Do it," he said passionately. "Kill me. Just know that doing so you will have ruined your one chance at survival." Desmera pressed the knife in deeper, drawing a trickle of blood. She wanted to, she could so easily get vengeance with one simple flick of her wrist. For Angeline. For Ser Tomas. For the entire crew of _The Horizon. _But she couldn't. There was something holding her back and she despaired at her weakness. She flung the dagger away and fell off of Alric.

"Why can't I do it?" she asked miserably.

"Because you aren't a monster, like me," he offered softly. She looked at him with malice.

"I want you to stay away from me, bastard."

"Don't be foolish, my lady. I've already told you, it's dangerous and I've already saved your life twice."

"Only because you were sent to end it!"

"Your life was in danger the moment your cousin decided she wanted the crown for herself. You are but one casualty in the game of thrones!"

"So it is my fault, then. How dare I anguish over my impending death when it is I who is related to an ambitious young girl! Is that what you want to hear? I shall bear all the responsibility of the lives you have stolen this night, so that you may go on with a clear conscience. After all, you are not the mastermind behind the plots, merely a paid executioner, no better than a whore!"

"You know that's not what I meant!"

"I don't know you at all. You're just a bastard, too weak to kill a defenseless lady." He tightly shut his mouth, solemnly taking the verbal assault. He knew he wouldn't be able to redeem himself, but he would spend the rest of his life trying to earn her forgiveness. He went down on his knees, bowed his head, and lifted his sword in offering.

"On this night, I swear to you, Lady Desmera Redwyne, that I shall never take another life unless you wish it. I pledge my heart, body, and sword to you from this day forward, loyal till my last breath."

Desmera wanted to tell him to take his own life, but then that small part of her that was nurtured by her opportunist grandmother made an appearance. She would always remember the lessons the Queen of Thorns had instilled in her, and Desmera took in her surroundings. She had no idea where she was, who she could trust, and had no money. As much as she wanted to spit on the traitorous scum before her, she needed him for the time being.

"I have little use for your heart, and you have little to recommend your loyalty. Your body and sword, however, might suit me still," she circled his subservient position. "Do not mistake my willingness to let you serve me for forgiveness," she said sharply. "I will never forget the discourtesies you have bestowed upon me in our short acquaintanceship, nor do I see myself forgiving you. I do not trust you, sell sword, but you may do your best to serve me."

Alric swallowed hard. The harsh words were nothing short of what he deserved, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't hope that saving her would win him back some of her favor.

"I understand and accept your terms, my lady. I am yours to command."

She scoffed bitterly. "And so it is. Tell me, sell sword, was there more to this plan of yours to rescue me?"

"Yes, my lady."


	8. Chapter 7

_Hello! Thank you to those who have reviewed. It means a lot for you to have taken the time write down a few words for my benefit. Also, a hearty thanks to those who have added this to their favorite and follow lists. I apologize for the long silence, I have recently moved to a new country very far from my home! A 16 hour time difference! It is wonderful here, and I am thrilled to be in this new place for the next few years. _

_Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy! P.S. We are very close to the anticipated meeting of Desmera and Jon Snow. Two chapters away, I think. Three at most!_

* * *

_Chapter 7_

The next day came too slowly for Desmera's liking. Unable to sleep, she had spent her night huddled to the glowing embers of the fire, staring over at the corpse of Grenard, until the first light peaked through the branches of the dense forest. It was oddly quiet, she noted, without even the faintest chirping of birds or even a rustle of leaves. Alric had dozed off shortly after they discussed their next plan of action. It disgusted her how he could sleep after the bloodbath he had committed, but she had no one else to rely on. The pair would walk to the rendezvous point Alric had been instructed to receive the final payment, with Desmera out of sight. He would claim that the job had been completed, take the money and they would use it to travel to safety. She had originally wanted to secure passage back to Arbor, but Alric convinced her that it would only invite danger to her home and family once news reached King's Landing and his previous employer of her survival. Alric had revealed that he didn't know the identity of her, only that she was a rich and, if the way she spoke was anything to go by, noble woman. He claimed he had suspicions, but had little evidence, and until he did, he did not want to give her false information. He then appealed to her sense of logic and suggested they make their way north, far from the plots and machinations of the Crownlands. Desmera just thought he wanted her to run and hide, no matter how he dressed it with words, the intent would result in only one way. _She _would be giving up her life, tail tucked between her legs, and whoever had hired Alric would get to continue to live in their home with the distinct pleasure of knowing they had gotten away with murder. The young Redwyne fumed at the thought.

* * *

"_Tis better they think they have succeeded and that you are dead, we will be able to accomplish more that way," Alric reasoned. _

"_And I am to forge my way north with naught but the clothes on my back and a traitorous bastard by my side? Let us not also forget that the entirety of Westeros is at war! If, by some miracle, we make it to that godsforsaken patch of ice, what can we possibly hope to accomplish? I cannot give Angeline and everyone else who died tonight justice when I am far from the wicked soul who ordered my death!"_

"_Whatever you think you can accomplish at King's Landing is foolish. You need allies and resources, none of which you can safely find!"_

"_My family is there! They can help!" she said determinedly. Alric scoffed._

"_They're actions are what landed you this predicament in the first place!"_

_Desmera's eyes blazed. "How dare you?"_

"_Look, my lady, they cannot help you. You and your family have a rich, well protected enemy. And that's only one we know about. If we go north, our pleas will not fall on deaf ears, and perhaps, if we are smart, those ears may find us someone who may actually be able to do something about it." Desmera did not want to back down, but she knew Alric made a fair point. Angeline and Ser Tomas, Captain Baywater and his men, they all deserved justice. They deserved the best she could offer, and currently in this state, she was not at her best. She knew she had to be patient. Alric sighed in relief when the noblewoman nodded reluctantly._

"_I know it's hard, my lady, and I'm not asking you to let it go. I promise to help you get vengeance for your friends. They're murderers have been slain, let that be enough for now," he barely had time to realize what he had said before the ire in her eyes flared._

"_Not all, mercenary," Desmera said in a deadly voice, full of promise. He stared blankly, unable to say anything in his defense. She looked at him pointedly before continuing._

"_How much were you offered to slaughter us?" she had asked, attempting to keep her voice from cracking. Alric gave her a sympathetic look._

"_My lady, knowing won't make you feel better," he said softly._

"_You don't know what will make me feel better. Do not make me ask again."_

"_300 gold dragons."_

_Desmera schooled her features. "Each?"_

_Alric shook his head. "Total." Blood rushed to her head, and she felt dizzy. 300 gold coins, that was all her and forty some odd people were worth. She almost wanted to laugh at the small sum. Alric was right, knowing had not made her feel better. It made her feel worse. The man before her had stolen the lives of many, for a measly sum of 60 gold dragons._

"_How cheaply your loyalties are bought. Perhaps, I should not put much stock into your sworn fealty." She hadn't anyways, but she wanted to besmirch his character further. _

"_I will spend the rest of my days in penance, and proving my loyalty to you. I've sworn it." The earnest conviction in his voice would have moved her a day ago, but she only felt empty at hearing his words._

"_You know, you have to know, that when this is all over, when I have found the monster who ordered this, I swear to everything that is holy, I will kill you," her voice dripping in promise. _

_He nodded solemnly and whispered, "I know."_

_It had barely made her feel better, but she needed to say it. It was a promise to herself, and to Angeline. She leveled him with a hawk like gaze before she quickly turned her back to him, no longer in the mood to talk. Not long after, she could hear his soft snores. She wasn't sure how she should feel about the cavalier way he had accepted his impending death._

* * *

Desmera stood from her huddled position and welcomed the stinging pain of blood flowing in her lower limbs. With a glance at Alric's sleeping form, she left the clearing to wash herself in the stream Alric had filled the water skins.

She found it easily enough and fell to her knees to scoop cool water into her mouth. Each sip helped to clear her mind, though her rage had prevented her to feel the full effects of the last night's whisky, she had the acute pressure of a headache. Once Desmera had her fill, she began splashing the water onto her face. An overwhelming sense of anguish crashed into her with full force as pink rivulets fell back into the stream. Desmera slapped the surface of the water, though it left her unsatisfied, so she began to punch at the shallow bank. She ignored the sharp pebbles as they bit into her closed fists. The young lady only ceased when the water clouded in a reddish-brown color. An ugly, guttural sob left her lips as she tried to suck in air. She couldn't breathe. Images of Angeline flooded her thoughts. And then finally, the dam she had been trying to keep from overflowing through the night burst and gave way to heavy tears. Desmera cried and cried and cried some more. Everything was wrong. It was unfair, completely, horribly unfair. Angeline and Ser Tomas were good, honorable and faithful people. And the captain and his sailors were honest, hard-working men. How could the gods let this happen?

_This wasn't supposed to happen, _she thought. Angeline was supposed to return to Arbor and marry the man of her dreams, she was supposed to be the one who got to live the rest of her life in wedded bliss, a rare and beautiful, sacred occurrence. Now Angeline would never get to live in a house with a blue door and garden full of lemon trees. She would never again get to feel the breeze of the ocean caress her face. She would not even receive a proper burial, Desmera lamented. Angeline deserved better than a wet, dark, unmarked grave in the ocean floor. She deserved to be surrounded by loved ones and bright flowers.

Desmera didn't know how long she cried, only that when the last of her tears had finally ran their course, a sense of blessed numbness enveloped her. So deep in her reverie, she did not hear the approaching footfalls or the subsequent calls for her attention.

"My lady," Alric called. "My lady?" She ignored him. "My lady, what's happened to your hands? Desmera!" It was only when he reached for her swollen, bloodied hands that she stirred. She pulled her fists away before he could touch her.

"Don't touch me," she snarled. He sighed.

"As you wish." He distanced himself before continuing. "We should start making our way towards town, my lady." She glared at him as she rose from the ground and smoothed her ruined gown.

"Very well. Lead the way."

* * *

A new dress, though too large and made of a courser material than she was used to, was donated from the innkeeper's daughter, Brenee, when they had arrived at their destination, after Desmera had spun a sob story about how Alric and her were the only survivors of a bandit attack. They had walked several hours in complete silence but had arrived in the small town midday.

The innkeeper had agreed to let them stay in the attic for a discounted price as long as Alric helped the aging man with a few repairs and heavy lifting that needed to done that neither he nor his only daughter could accomplish. He was a polite, shrewish sort of fellow, who asked little questions and seemed content to give them their privacy. He also hadn't asked their names, something Desmera was surprised at.

Brenee had brought the disheveled woman a basin full of water for washing, fresh linens, and a thick stew. The sweet young woman helped Desmera remove the tattered and bloody dress, tutted at her poor state and assisted with washing her long hair. It reminded her of Angeline. Sucking back the sob, she smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, Brenee. You need not have helped me."

"Beggin' ya pardon, miss. But ya seem like an elevated lady." Desmera frowned slightly. It wouldn't do to alert anyone of her rank.

"What gave me away?" she asked.

"Nothin' much, miss. Just yer gown was mighty fine, minus the dirt and blood. And ya walk and talk like wunna those fine ladies in Mistwood. Plus ya have that pretty necklace with jewels." The Redwyne girl nodded thoughtfully as she clutched at her pendant. "Don't ya worry, miss. I won't say nuthin' to nobody! I'm no gossip! I'll be takin' my leave, now, if ya won't be needin' anythin' else, miss." Brenee ducked out and left Desmera to her thoughts. She couldn't afford such careless mistakes. Much was at stake and relied on her ability to blend in. Her identity had to be kept a secret, her death had to be believed. She slowly unclasped the jewelry and forlornly tucked it between her breasts under her bindings.

Now, freshly washed and fed, exhaustion settled deep in her bones. She made her way to the lumpy, makeshift bed. Sleep, which eluded her the night before, swiftly swept her away into a world of bloody memories and dark terrors.

Alric found her sleeping form hours later. She was whimpering, and tears fell from tightly pressed eyes. Unable to witness her torment, he gently woke her.

She startled with soft cry, eyes widened in fear. It took a few moments to realize she had been dreaming, and a few moments longer to realize whose grasp she was in. She quickly schooled her features and shoved Alric away.

"My lady-" he started.

"Don't," she said shortly. She took in the dark sky from the small window by his head. "Have you met with your contacts yet?"

Alric shook his head. "I was about to make my way down to the specified clearing. I scouted earlier, it's about 15 minutes from here. I couldn't find any travelers around it, though."

"I would like to go with you."

"Have you gone mad?" he asked incredulously. "If they see you they'll know you're not dead!"

"Well that's the point. They won't see me, but I will certainly see them. They might give clues to who ordered my death."

"No," he said without missing a beat. "Absolutely not. It's dangerous and too risky."

"No? No? Who are you to order me about? I am in charge, and you are my sworn shield. I make the rules, not you!"

"We have no idea who we are dealing with here. Just let me handle it!" He was close to her now, his body looming over her, trying to intimidate her. She didn't baulk, however.

"I do not trust you, Waters, so I'm going and that is my final word on the matter." Recognizing the fact he was fighting a losing battle, and the fact that he needed to meet the contacts soon, he sighed in defeat.

"Fine, but you follow from a distance and when we get there you stay out of sight, don't interfere, and, for both of our sakes, don't make a bleeding sound."

She smirked triumphantly when he handed her two daggers. "Just in case," he murmured. "Time to go."

She darted in the shadows, following from a safe distance and trying her hardest to stay out of sight, though it was hard to do in her dress. She kept stumbling on the excess folds of fabric and for the first time in her life, she cursed her small frame.

Perhaps fifteen or so minutes later, she saw a soft glow of light breaking through the trees. As she approached, she settled herself behind some thick shrubs. Satisfied that there was no way they could see her from their position, she took note that there was a slender man holding a lantern. He had no discerning adornments, no house crests or signature coats of arms to distinguish himself or who he worked for. Disappointing, but then, she hadn't truly expected to gather information so easily.

"My good man!" Alric called from her left.

"Waters, I presume?" the man asked in a saccharine voice.

"The one and only! Well, not really," he said in a lazy, playful manner. The man who spoke opted not to comment on it.

"Is it finished?"

"Of course. I wouldn't be here otherwise." The man narrowed his gaze.

"We were under the impression that there would be more of you."

_We? _she thought. There was only one man. Did he mean him and his employer? Desmera almost jumped when a twig snapped several meters to her left. She saw Alric stiffen briefly, but the man acted as though they hadn't heard a thing. The mercenary continued his easy going manner and chuckled as he put a hand behind his head ruefully.

"Well, you see, I tend not to play well with others." The man lifted his brow.

"That makes this easy, then." All of a sudden, five more men entered the clearing, each closing in on Alric from all sides. The mercenary dropped his playful act and stood straight.

"I see. Let's get started shall we?" Desmera panicked as she watched the contacts raise their swords. Could the mercenary really take on six men on his own?

With lightning speed, Alric throws two daggers in the direction of the two closest predators. Desmera hadn't even seen him grab the small weapons. Both landed in their respective targets, one in the eye of a shorter man and the other lodged deep in the throat of another. The remaining three men with poised swords sputtered in shock, but quickly recovered with a renewed sense of urgency. Alric grasped the sword that was attached at his hip and parried the first swing to reach him, kicking out to knock back the angry man. He quickly spun his sword in the direction of the other two, giving himself a wider berth from the immediate danger.

Desmera watched enraptured until movement from the corner of her eye distracted her from the beautiful clash of swords.

The man who had been in the clearing to greet the sellsword was reaching for a blade of his own. She doubted Alric had noticed the man sneaking toward him as he had his back turned and was fighting the remaining two fighters. The mercenary lunged and struck out at the one on his right before bringing the pommel of his blade against the other head. Both collapsed in a heap onto each other before Alric finished them off with quick slices. The sneaking man was about to drive his knife into the mercenary while his back was turned, but Desmera's voice rang out calmer than she felt.

"I would not do that if I were you." She positioned the tip of the blade in between the slender man's shoulder blades, ignoring the pain in her self-mutilated hand. He froze instantly. Alric spun around with a surprised look, heaving heavily from the short skirmish.

"Drop your weapon, and slowly turn around," she called. The man did as asked. When he had focused his attention on Desmera, Alric kicked the man onto his knees with his sword pointed.

"Who do you work for?" she asked with a confidence she didn't feel. The man scrunched up his face and spat at her feet.

"You won't get anything out of me," he replied with an air of superiority.

"That is where you are wrong," she said glaring. Desmera attempted to remember her grandmother's lessons in observation, assessment, and manipulation. "My man here is quite proficient at coaxing blood from a person. And he does what I tell him to." The man glared. Desmera steeled her jaw and continued. "For instance, if I tell him to let you go free, he will holster his sword. Or, if you are not in a sharing mood, I might ask him to bring me your left eye." The kneeling man's resolve wavered briefly before he straightened.

"Get on with it then," he said calmly. Desmera smirked crookedly, he clearly thought she was bluffing. She wasn't sure if she could actually follow through with her threat, but then Angeline's stricken face assaulted her. This was not the time to be soft in her convictions. She may never have another chance to identify her assailant.

"Alric, will you please accommodate the man?" Alric knelt and wrapped his arm around the hostage's neck, securing the man's head close to the pointed end of his blade. He applied pressure, drawing blood.

"Wait," the man cried out. "Wait! I'll tell you everything I know!" Desmera smiled triumphantly and raised her hand to halt the mercenary.

"How generous of you," she said graciously. Alric shoved the man away from him, but his sword remained poised at his back. "Who do you work for?" The contact gave her a calculated look.

"Her Majesty, Queen Cersei." The air rushed out of her lungs. A powerful enemy, indeed.

"Why?"

"The queen does not enjoy sharing anything, least of all her power, title, and children. I am not certain on why she wanted you eliminated, but I would hazard a guess that your cousin Lady Margaery threatens her grasp on all of those."

"And my death would serve as a reminder as to who had the real power," Desmera called softly. Her life was nothing more than a power play for a desperate, passed-her-prime queen. Just a means to attempt to isolate her cousin at the Red Keep and to keep her from acquiring trusted allies.

She felt the cold claws of futility wrap around her suddenly cold body. How could she ever come close enough to exacting justice on the Queen? She had gold, allies, and the Iron Throne backing her. She was practically untouchable. Alerting Desmera's family, particularly her cousin would only further push them into harm's way, no doubt increasing the already high number of casualties. Defeated, Desmera turned her back on the men.

"My lady," Alric called. "He cannot go free. He will return to the Red Keep and alert his master of your survival." The man protested. She nodded in acknowledgment.

"No! I told you everything I know! You said I would go free if I did!" Desmera raised her brow.

"Did I?" A look of comprehension overtook his face, realizing she had never uttered the words that he would go free, only the possibility that she might.

"Damn you, you whore!" He continued a long list of profanities, cursing her name. He only succeeded in raising her ire.

"Kill him," she said hollowly, making her trek towards the inn. A choked cry of pain, then silence followed her.

Not long after, Alric's footsteps could be heard trailing behind her.

"My lady," he called. Desmera ignored him. "Thank you. For saving my life." Desmera paused instantly, spinning on her heel. He had been closer to her than she thought, and she was greeted with Alric's tall form only inches away from her.

"Your life means nothing to me," she snarled. "You are simply a means to an end. Your death would do little for me now." Waters looked at her with look she couldn't discern.

"I am grateful, regardless." She scoffed before resuming her previous path. "Our quest has increased in difficulty tenfold."

"There is no quest," she stated.

"My lady," he started, but she held up her hand.

"Silence. There is nothing more for you to say." He acquiesced, realizing he would not be able to get through to her. She had been dealt an awful hand. In the last couple of days, she had seen more horrors than some see in a lifetime. She had lost much, and Alric knew she deserved some time to herself to collect her thoughts.

Desmera made straight for their room once they arrived back at the inn, ignoring the boisterous crowd that seemed deep into their cups. Alric decided to keep his distance and stay among them, ordering a mug of ale.

Earlier, Alric had made quick work of looting the men that had been sent to kill him. He should have known that his contracted employer would have left no loose ends on a death of such high profile. The slimy bastards hadn't even carried the promised sum upon their persons. Fortunately, he had been able to find a few handfuls of gold and silver coins. They would be essential once they decided to move forward on their journey. They needed to leave the area as soon as possible, before the bodies were found and people started asking questions. He hoped that with full night's rest, Desmera would be well enough to shake the feelings of despair and continue their quest of justice.

When the lights of breaking dawn arrived the next day, however, Alric was sorely disappointed. Desmera had sunk into a deep depression, ignoring him and Brenee's pleas to eat, drink and wash. She laid in the lumpy bed, refusing to speak or move at all. Nothing he said would illicit a response. On the third day of her silent confinement, he had decided he had enough. He hated how defeated she looked. He could survive her hateful glares and harsh words, he deserved them. But to see her indifference, he could not stand for it. The former mercenary had watched her for days upon the ship, she had been so full of light and practiced manners. Her eyes had sparkled in happiness when she spoke to her beloved handmaiden. The contrast from then to now was alarming. Her tanned skin had taken on a sickly pallor, her golden eyes dulled, and her glossy golden mane laid unkempt and tangled. He was sorry for the part he had played in her tragedy.

"Angeline would be disappointed at the sight of you," he said. A low blow, certainly, but he hoped it was an awful enough thing to say to her that she might react. His gamble was rewarded.

"Do not speak her name, bastard," she said with venom, but her biting words cracked from days unused.

"Do something about it then," Alric dared. Her hands clenched the sheets and her eyes narrowed.

"I know what you are doing, Waters. It is not going to work."

"It already is."

"Whatever you think you are achieving is a waste of effort. I have lain in contemplation for days and each avenue explored has all resulted in the same fashion. There is no justice to be had for Angeline and the rest. They died for nothing."

"Not for nothing," he said with conviction.

"There is little I can do to the Queen of Westeros. What can a _dead_ third born daughter of a small noble house possibly hope to achieve?" she asked miserably.

"The Queen has made enemies throughout the entire seven kingdoms. Her very reign sits on a pointed edge, hanging in balance. One more stone could send her toppling, my lady."

Desmera could scarcely believe his words, wanting nothing more than to spend the remainder of her life in a huddled, ball of despair.

"You could be that stone," he continued, hoping to bolster his lady's will for revenge. "If your plight is heard by the right people, you could forge formidable alliances and renew the people's hatred towards the crown. You have desirable prospects, my lady. Your father commands the largest fleet in Westeros. For now, he serves the crown. But when news of Cersei's plots to kill you reach them, the fleet will be turned upon her instead. It could change the tide of war."

It was true, she thought. She had never been close to her father, but she knew that once her grandmother had learned of the crown's betrayal, she would order her Uncle Mace Tyrell to command her father's fleet to turn its line of fire towards the Red Keep.

She needed to send word to her grandmother, Margaery, and her father. But sending a message was dangerous and foolish, there were too many spies, according to Alric's intelligence, lurking about the keep.

Stannis Baratheon was her best bet. He was north, last she heard. She would seek him out, and plead her case. Besides, if the rumors were true about Cersei's incestuous relations with the Kingslayer, he was the rightful King, not Tommen. Perhaps if her family pledged their support and their ships to his crusade, he might overlook their temporary support to the Lannister's. She only hoped she could make it to Stannis Baratheon before the Queen did anything else to her family.

She mustered the strength to sit herself upright for the first time in days.

"Preparations must be made, Waters. But first, I need something to eat and drink. Please make the necessary arrangements," she ordered, her voice getting stronger with each uttered syllable. Alric couldn't help but smile.

It was about damned time.


End file.
